Seeing and Sharing Each Other's Pain

I didn’t even feel the injury when it happened. While baking brownies for my family, I put my hand inside the small canister of baking powder and twisted to scoop the last bit of white from the container. I turned to drop the baking powder into the bowl of dough and noticed a thin, but growing wider, red line on my hand. I was bleeding. Thankfully, I saw the injury before the red dripped into the bowl, or I would have had to start all over. I had cut my hand on the sharp metal edge left on the top of the canister where I had peeled the aluminum freshness seal away.

The cut was deep, not deep enough for stitches, but deep enough that stopping the bleeding took some time. I bandaged my hand once, saw blood begin to pool at the sides of the bandage, and bandaged my hand again. Then, I went about the business of my day.

The next day, I went to babysit my grandchildren. The oldest, age 6, noticed my injury while I was reading her a story. Her eyes went wide. “Memaw! Why do you have a cut on your hand?”

I found myself comforting her, assuring her that I was okay. Her concern, however, comforted me. There was comfort in her simple act of noticing. There was comfort in the opportunity to tell my story and in her thoughtful reception of it.

When kids get hurt, they need assurance that they will be okay. They need to hear that God made our bodies to heal themselves in most situations, including small bruises, cuts, and common ailments. They also need to know that their parents will take them to medical professionals for help with bigger issues and that God is present in the act of healing then, too.

Adults already know that their bodies can heal on their own in most situations. Adults know when to take themselves in for medical care. Still, they need to hear from their loved ones, “I’m sorry you were hurt. I see your pain.”

I think sometimes we take each other’s wounds for granted because adults know about physical, mental, and emotional healing. Maybe we fear wounded people don’t want to be babied, so we don’t say anything. Maybe we hide our own wounds, so people won’t think we’re craving the attention children get when they are hurt or so people won’t think we are weak.

When I cut my hand, I knew it would heal. I knew it didn’t require a trip to the doctor. I was able to tend to the injury myself. Yet, I felt sad that I had been wounded. I grieved because of the damage, no matter how temporary. My granddaughter didn’t coddle me. She saw and she shared my pain.

As I was contemplating this, my thoughts turned to Jesus and the pain He experienced when the soldiers nailed Him to the cross. I wonder if sometimes we take His wounds, His pain, and His death for granted because He is God. Jesus knew better than anyone that all was going to be well. Hebrews 12:2 even says, “For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” But this doesn’t mean He didn’t feel the pain. Rather, He endured it. Though powerful and knowledgeable and able to rise from the dead, our Lord still felt and endured the physical, mental, and emotional pain of being crucified.

When I think of this, I want to talk it over with Jesus. I want to take time to see His wounds, to sit with Him in His pain. Strangely enough, when I do, He comforts me—like I comforted my granddaughter. When I tell Him I’m sorry my transgressions wounded him and contemplate the unimaginable depth of His pain, He reassures me that because of God's love, all will be okay.

I thank You, Lord. Amen

“But He was wounded for our transgressions,

He was bruised for our iniquities;

The chastisement for our peace was upon Him,

And by His stripes we are healed.” –Isaiah 53:5, NKJV

Photo by Dev Benjamin on Unsplash