Bonded By Blood

I don't like it when my kids bleed. This is not one of the more enjoyable aspects of being a mom. I'm quite sure I'm not alone in this.

Yesterday morning, Kirby decided to take on London's Little Tykes shopping cart in an all-out baby version of "the only rule is there are no rules" cage fighting. The shopping cart won. Kirby, for his effort, received the consolation prize of one fat and bloodied lip. I seriously considered taking a picture of it but thought better of it as it is not for the faint of heart.

And the fact that the boy just won't sit still long enough for the camera to focus.

I handle the occasional broken blood vessel just fine. I'm the picture of calm, cool & collected. I don't scream, gasp, get dizzy or otherwise run around squealing like a four-year-old flapping my hands in the air. No, that's not me. But on the inside...yeah, it's the inside that goes a little Tammy Faye on me. Basically, whenever I see my babies bleed from one injury or another, my heart crumples up in a ball somewhere in a darkened corner of my chest and sobs uncontrollably.

I firmly believe that children should not have the physical ability to bleed until they are at least filling out their applications to various colleges & universities. Preferably Ivy League, of course.

Why is this part of childrearing so difficult? I can handle the occasional bruise, scraped knee, even a kitty scratch (which he received the day before) but when the blood starts to flow outside of their body, mine stops within. I can only imagine it's because their blood is my blood to begin with. I made their blood. Me. I first gave them mine, then made theirs for them, then through the Good Lord's amazing design, taught them how to make their own. And I would gladly shed my own blood for them today.

But this can't be all there is to it, because if it were simply a biological thing then adoptive mothers wouldn't feel that same sobbing heart in the darkened corner that I do. So what is it then? I can only come to one conclusion and it still comes down to a blood bond. A blood bond that runs through the veins of everyone of us making us all, not parents, but children ourselves.

Just like we all would shed blood for our children, our loving and selfless Savior shed His blood for His. Us. It's THAT blood that gets me in the heart whenever I see it flow. It's THAT blood that reminds me what it means to be a loving parent full of grace. It's THAT blood that - No, I didn't make for my children - but was instead given to me as well as them. We are bonded by blood. You, me, your kids, my kids. All of us!

And the blood that causes me to weep, amazingly, heals me at the same time.

Amen!