Compassion

I got a serious injury the other day. Okay, not really. The cat tried to jump onto me and scratched my hand. I reacted by shouting, "Ouch!" as the claws left a jagged torn line on my hand. Emma rushed over to see and I was amazed at her concern. I saw a glimpse of amazing compassion. I told her I was fine, but she wouldn't let it go.

Emma: Oh no, Mommy. It has blood. Oh no, you are hurting?

Me: I'm OK. I'll just wipe the little bit of blood off and God will heal it.

Emma: Don't touch it. Is needs a bame-aid.

She rushed off and I decided to let her doctor me up. She returned with a band-aid, a butterfly bandage left over from the time Jeff tried to cut his finger off and was too cheap to go to the ER for stitches. She placed the bandage right onto the scratch, covering the length of it with the adhesive. It wasn't sticking like she wanted to so she tried to reposition it. Now it was actually hurting.

Me: That's enough. I think it is getting better. Thank you for helping me.

Emma: Please don't take the bame-aid off. God needs to heal it. It needs a cab (scab).

Throughout the day she asked me about my injury. She would come and pat my hand, give it a kiss and say, "Oh, Mommy, I sorry you got an ouchie. That's just too bad. Too bad for you. Yep!" The procedure was completed when she insisted the ouchie was healed and she wanted to rip the bandage off. They have good adhesive on those things. My hand is healing just fine. Thanks for asking. I've had enough sympathy from Emma to last for awhile.