But It Hurts!

A Yellowjacket on the lamp shade, invader but fascinating to a four-year-old. The inevitable. “But it hurts!” she cried as she ran from room to room. Will the running make the pain go away? Is this where we learned the technique? Run! Escape! Lose control to fear and then to confusion, and then to chaos. Run!

“Come to me and I will give you rest…”

“Look,” I said to my child. “Look how clear the water is today. You can see all the way to the bottom
of the pond.” Then, with a giggle, she threw a stone into the water, once calm, now churning and bubbling. Ripples everywhere! “Daddy, I can’t see anymore. Make it clear again.” And all the while, she moved her little hand back and forth in the water in her effort to brush the ripples away. “Let the water rest,” I said. “No,” she countered, trying so hard to smooth the surface. “I must make it clear again.”

“Still waters…restored soul…come to me.”

Moist ground, raw from picks and shovels, covered the grave. A gash in the earth, like a cut trying to heal. He knelt in the wet grass, never noticing a soft rain that fell from dark gray skies. Tears mixed with droplets covered his cheeks. When he struggled to pull a handkerchief from his coat pocket, I reached out to help. No need. His hand reappeared holding a small bottle of amber liquid. Two gulps and then he waited for the rain to stop. But it didn’t. And it won’t.

Run! “Make it go away, daddy.” Hide! Scream! “But it hurts!” Faster! Farther! Run!

“He leads me to still waters; He restores my soul….”

Slow down. Stop. You can’t outrun the pain.