Yesterday I picked up my granddaughter (2 ½) from daycare. Right away I noticed an Elmo Bandage on her right knee.
As we walked to my truck I asked her, “What happened?”
In her I’m-learning-to-talk English she told me the story, “I running … I fall down on rock.”
“Oh my! Are you all right?”
With a tearful whimper for affect she answered, “It still hurts a little bit.”
In the fifteen-minute drive home she kept repeating her report of how she came to be wounded and always ended with the phrase, “It still hurts a little bit.”
“Well I’ll look at it when we get home, okay?”
To which she responded, “It still hurts a little bit.”
At home I pulled aside half the Band-Aid and gave it a thorough grandfather examination. I found a tiny scratch that wasn’t life threatening.
“It still hurts a little bit.” She informed me when I re-covered her injury.
That evening while having a short quiet time I reviewed my granddaughters’ crisis and her words. I prayed for her complete healing.
And I prayed for me because I have boo-boos. “God I know my past is forgiven but it still hurts a little bit.”