{Bruised}

There they are. Marring the smooth, pure, ivory skin on the back of both of his hands. Bruises. My stomach still churns a bit when I see them. It was where they placed the IV line. And then, when one came out, where they had to place another. It was a struggle. He had so many IV's, blood transfusions, and blood draws in the NICU when he was a small babe that it is now nearly impossible to find a good vein. During this most recent hospitalization I watched them insert the needle and search. Prodding and poking, moving the needle under his skin. The nurse on duty did it as carefully as she could, and I saw small tears threatening to fall from her blue eyes. I gulped in air and bit my lip. I wished it was my hand. So bad. So, so bad - I wanted to be the one in the bed. I asked them to stop. Not to do it. Why did they have to do it? We were just in for tests. Why an IV? Please just stop. But then they explained. It was for his protection. We had never seen him have a seizure while not on his meds. Didn't know how he would respond. Wanted to take all of the precautions they could, just in case. If he needed some emergency medication immediately, there would be a means for that. So I sat. I let them do it. I stroked his hair and told him it would be over soon. They never did need to use the IV line that was placed, but it was there in case he needed the rescue. It was there to rescue him. And now the mottled patches of ugly browns, greens and blues that decorate the back of his hands remain as a reminder. It made me think of some of the "bruises" in my own life. Things that I didn't want to go through, saw no point in, and even asked God "Why do we have to do this? Stop. Just stop." But they were situations that were there to rescue me. The "me" syndrome that says "it's all about me, keep me comfortable, keep my pride intact, keep my life stable, secure, and happy". Me, me, me. Indeed, I have gotten some bruises that have rescued me from me. I am still very much in process of seeing my pride for what it is and submitting to the bruises. Mottled patches of ugly browns, greens and blues that really aren't that ugly after all. They decorate the smooth, pure, ivory veneer of my ideals and delusions of perfection. They are there to rescue me. Mottled patches of ugly browns, greens and blues. Beauty. "But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our guilt and iniquities; the chastisement, peace and well-being for us was upon Him, and with the stripes that wounded Him we are healed and made whole." Isaiah 53:5 (amplified) They are there to rescue me.