Peace and perspective from God's timeless truths.
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Encouragement for Today
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[Alicia Bruxvoort]
August 7, 2018
Because Band-Aids Canât Fix Everything
[ALICIA BRUXVOORT](
âFor You, O Eternal One, have come to my aid and offered me relief.â [Psalm 86:17]( (VOICE)
When our daughter, Hannah, was in kindergarten, we lovingly called her âLittle Nightingale.â
She may have been an elementary-school rookie, but it didnât take long for our 6-year-old to realize that recess is both the happiest and most hazardous time of day. While a playground is the perfect palette for sliding and swinging, chasing and racing, it can quickly become a canvas of boo-boos and tears.
It was this unspoken paradox that prompted Hannah to create her own âkindergarten first-aid kit.â She emptied an old plastic pencil box and filled it with Band-Aids and cotton swabs, gauze strips and tissues. Then she slipped it into her backpack right beside her library books and lunch box.
Without flamboyance or fanfare, Hannah carried that little pencil box out to recess each day, and she looked for kindergartners in need. She tended to bruised elbows and stubbed toes, monkey bar mishaps and merry-go-round woes.
And when we gathered around our kitchen table after school, our Little Nightingale often told tales of kindergarten calamities. She spoke of Gracieâs slip from the swings and Johnnyâs run-in with a tree, Samanthaâs bloody nose and Davidâs skinned knee. Hannah never seemed to run out of classmates in a fix. Nor did she run out of mercy.
But as the school year progressed, we began noticing Hannahâs recess reports were shifting in a subtle way. Our tender-hearted girl spoke less about her classmatesâ scrapes and scabs and more about their bruised feelings and aching hearts.
It was as if our Little Nightingale began to realize that the greatest wounds on the playground werenât always the bloodied lips or the clumsy trips, but the saddened spirits and the heavy hearts.
Maybe thatâs why I eventually discovered a bright orange shoebox in Hannahâs backpack where that plastic pencil box had always been.
âWhatâs this?â I asked as I lifted the bulky box out of her bag and shook it like it was a Christmas present waiting to be unwrapped.
âOh, thatâs my new first aid kit,â Hannah replied with a shrug of her shoulders.
âItâs so heavy!â I exclaimed. âAre you carrying Band-Aids made of steel?â
âNo-oooo, Mom,â she said with a giggle. She took the box out of my hands and set it on the counter. Then she lifted the lid to reveal what lay inside. âI put my Bible in there,â she said, âCause a Band-Aid canât fix everything, ya know.â
She held my gaze for a moment and then skipped off to play with her sister, leaving me alone with that bulky orange box and a kindergartnerâs wisp of wisdom.
I stared at that well-worn childrenâs Bible tucked beneath a pile of Band-Aids and cotton balls, bandages and tissues, and I thought of all the times in my own life Iâd opened Godâs Word with a hurting heart and a cry for help. And I felt a lump of tears rising in my throat as I realized the timeless truth of my daughterâs words.
We may have hurts our friends canât fix or wounds our family canât bind. But we have a God who sees our pain ([Genesis 16:13]( and a Heavenly Father who hears our cries ([Psalm 18:6](.
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