Parental Love

Last night I nursed my 6 year old through a migraine. He began to complain at dinner that his head was hurting. I realized then that he had not eaten a lot during the day because we were busy, and he does not complain about being hungry. I told him to finish his dinner he would probably feel better.

He stopped complaining, but he was not right. He asked me to take him up to his bed and once again told me that his head hurt. I helped him brush his teeth and together we performed all of the bedtime rituals. I put him in bed and rubbed his back for about 10 minutes. We said prayers and I went to throw some laundry into the washing machine.

I had just sat down to watch Project Runway when I heard him crying in his room. I went upstairs and found him trembling, crying and writhing on his bed. I knew then that it was a migraine. Having had a few myself, I know all too well the excruciating pain that they produce. I gave him some Motrin. It did nothing. He was shaking so badly I thought that he was going to have a seizure. He was weeping and moaning, and my heart was literally breaking.

Seeing your child in such pain is the part of motherhood that no one prepares you for.

I began to pray and intercede on his behalf. I was begging God to take away his pain, to show His power and heal my boy. At that moment I would have gladly taken his pain as my own just to afford him some relief.

A few moments later he burped, and then he passed gas. My sweet little angel, in all of his pain, said "excuse me." Tears burned my eyes as I held him even tighter.

"My tummy feels sick." he said. I knew that he was going to vomit and I was actually glad as it usually signals the migraine is winding down. Once he vomited he began to feel better, and within 10 minutes he was asleep. His body was simply spent. I sat there with him, stroking his head for a long while after he was asleep.

I gazed down at his little face and his little boy body, and it was like I was looking down at my heart. What a complex affair it is, parenthood. This child walks around, completely separate from me, yet still very much a part of me. When he hurts, I hurt. When he is in pain, I am in pain.

In those moments the levels deepen and I am reminded of how it is for God. I am His child in pain. There I am writhing, moaning and weeping- sick from myself. And there He is waiting for me to get to the end of myself so that He can perform the healing. The process is painful, so painful. But afterward comes the rest.

I am still in process. I know that I will never arrive, at least not here on this earth, but I am learning to let go. I am learning that it takes more faith to allow the healing than it does to stay where I am, in pain and sorrow. I am learning again to intercede on my own behalf and to let God father me, to be vulnerable.

Being a grown-up is when you come to the realization that it is easier to just stop fighting.