Last night our four year-old son rolled out of bed. It happens. Opening up the back of your head on a toy air craft carrier by rolling out of bed, however, usually does not happen. (My children continue to prove
to me their ability to do the unthinkable.) He came running down the hallway screaming. He was bleeding significantly. I could tell by looking at the wound that we were going to need to visit the ER. Thank God that my husband was home. We decided that I would take him.
Hours later, we laid on the ER rolling bed. He had fallen asleep on my chest. The nurse and doctor came in. The doctor took one look at it and said, “He isn’t going to like me. We are going to have to push the wound together and staple.” No anesthetic. Not what a mother wants to hear.
The nurse came in minutes later and began the process of cutting away his hair. He was crying and resisting just the slight touches of his hair being cut. I had to then hold him with all my strength as they forced his wound together and proceeded to staple into my child’s head four staples.
Screaming and crying he begged for us to stop. “You’re hurting me!” At one point he actually pulled his arm back as if to punch me right in the face but he never followed through. It was awful to say the least.
As I reflect on the situation I am reminded of Jesus being put on the cross. It is hard to understand until you go through something like what we went through in the ER. As a parent I knew that he had to go through what he was going through. It was necessary. So I allowed my child to be punctured, to hurt, and to feel betrayed for a brief time for his greater good because I love him. Isn’t that what matters most?
“Yet it pleased the LORD to bruise him…” -Isaiah 53:10a