Recently I picked up my granddaughter (2 ½) from daycare. Right away I noticed an Elmo Bandage on her right knee.
So, as we walked to my truck I pointed to her knee and asked, “What happened?”
In her I’m-learning-to-talk English she told me the story, “I running … I fall down on rock.”
With concern I said, “Oh my! Are you all right?”
With a tearful whimper, for affect, she answered, “It still hurts a little bit.”
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During the fifteen-minute drive to my house, she kept repeating her report of how she came to be wounded and always ended with the phrase, “It still hurts a little bit.”
I sympathised. “Well I’ll look at it when we get home, okay?”
My granddaughter said, “It still hurts a little bit.”
At home, I pulled aside half the Band-Aid and gave it a thorough grandfather examination. I discovered a tiny scratch that didn’t appear life threatening.
She informed me, “It still hurts a little bit.”
I re-covered her wound with the Elmo bandage.
That evening, after my granddaughter left, I reviewed her crisis and her words. I prayed God would provide complete healing.
And I prayed for me because I have boo-boos. “God I know my past has been forgiven but it still hurts a little bit.”