"Mom, I Wish This Had Never Happened!"

The sun was shining, Matt was working, Kaylee was at gymnastics, so it was a perfect day for an afternoon bike ride with my son.  We strapped on our helmets, filled the water bottles and set out for a Slurpee a few miles away.  The trail to 7-Eleven is entirely uphill, so my words were primarily ones of encouragement as we climbed, and his gear-less dirt bike made his soccer legs tired as he pumped.  

We made it to 7-Eleven, enjoyed a quite tasty concoction of Pina Colada, Dr. Pepper, and Cherry Slurpee, and saddled back on our bikes to head back home.  On the trail that we ride, there is a part for horses that is dirt, and a paved trail that is parallel to the dirt one for those with wheels.  Cameron thought it would be fun to race me for a mile stretch; he stayed on the flat dirt path while I went on the hilly paved trail.  His legs were powering as fast as he could make them go, and I couldn't help but smile as I saw the joy he had on his face.  The wind was hitting him.  His wheels were going fast.  He was beating me.  He was having a blast!  

Then, the rock.  

His tire hit a rock.  I heard him scream, "Mom," and looked over just in time to see him fly off his bike skidding onto his knees, elbow and hands on the rocky dirt.  The sound of his lungs working made me realize that this was pretty dire.  I got to him as quickly as I could and his knee was bloodied and filled with dirt and little rocks.  This is a boy who doesn't do well when blood is present, and I had forgotten the small First Aid kit that usually accompanies us on our bike rides.  I didn't have anything to clean the wound except a bit of water (at which he vocally let me know that was not going to be okay).  I didn't have anything to stop the blood.  

All I knew was: I've got to get him home.  

With blood dripping down his leg, he let me know that he was not walking or riding his bike.  I realized I would have to take off my shirt, fortunately wearing a sports bra underneath and knew in this moment that was my only option, and wrap it around his wounded knee.  I figured if I could get his mind off of the blood then we could get home.  We still had a mile to go with two major intersections to cross, but it was all downhill.  With tears flooding his cheeks, I coaxed him bravely back onto his bike, and we made it home.

"I wish this had never happened," he said when we got home as I walked toward him with the items needing to cleanse his wounds in my hands.  I thought about that for a second.  

"I wish this had never happened."  

I know I've said that before.  

I begin to understand his heart.  

I clean the small rocks out of his tender skin.  A flap of skin hangs from a deep wound and I go near it.  He flinches.  I don't touch it.  He trusts me, but it's still painful.  The thought of me touching it makes him hurt.  I've been there before.  

"Why do you have to do this?" he cries.  

"Because it's part of the healing process.  It won't heal properly if we don't first clean the wound.  I've got to get all the gunk out, the stuff that's not supposed to be there.  Then, I've got to put some cleansing liquid on it that is going to sting.  It won't feel good at the time, but if we don't deal with this now then when it could be healing it will only be hurting you more.  You've got to continue being brave.  The pain will end soon."

His body stiffens and he cries more.  The pain penetrates through every part of him as the Hydrogen Peroxide does its job.  

"I wish this had never happened."  There it is again from his mouth.  This time I respond:

"I know, Son.  I know," I say looking into his dark brown eyes.  "But it did happen, and now we must work on restoring your knee.  It will soon become a scab, and then you'll have a scar that will remind you of this moment, but hopefully you can look at that scar and smile, knowing the healing has taken place."  

As I place the gauze delicately on his knee, I think about my own life.  How many times have I been hurting, but haven't let the hand of the Healer cleanse my wounds?  How many times have those wounds festered and become swollen and infected instead of enduring the sting and healing power that comes from the process albeit difficult and painful?  

And in this sacred, unpredictable moment as I put the last Band-Aid on this precious, hurt knee, I thank the Healer for His healing touches in my life, for His tender love that looks deep into my eyes and says, "I am with you in the process.  Continue to be brave. You will be okay."