Scarface

Well, we spent a good portion of our evening yesterday in the ER.... I was heading out to a baby shower for my friend, Sirisha. I had a sandwich platter and gift all ready to go, dinner was almost prepared for my family, and I was to "pass the baton" to Tim as he came home so that I could be early to the shower. Tim was greeted with the usual excitement from the boys - which means that Nathan was making quite a racket bouncing in his exersaucer and Matthew ran up, arms open wide, for a hug. Tied up in last minute preparations for my quick departure, I called a greeting over my shoulder then flashed Tim a smile. The usual "welcome Daddy home" routine ensued .... Matthew took off through the kitchen toward the living room calling, "Daddy! Come! I'll show you my train table!!" Tim gladly followed, expecting to play with Matthew for a few minutes before dinner. From the kitchen I could hear Matthew's footsteps running toward the train table with Tim right behind. Next I heard a thud, then Matthew crying. "Oh, are you OK?" Tim asked, and then calling to me.... "Oh no! Come in here! Come here now!" I could tell by the sound of Tim's voice that I better get some paper towels and rush to the scene. So with my paper towel cape trailing behind me, I rounded the corner to see Matthew's precious face covered in quite a bit of blood. Hmmm, it didn't look like "mommy magic" could fix this one. As we tried to get the bleeding to stop there was a flurry of questions amidst Matthew's screaming, "How did this happen? He tripped? Where did he hit? Should I get ice? Oh wow, do you think he needs stitches? How am I going to get the sandwiches to the baby shower? etc., etc."

We made a few phone calls, threw some of the baby shower sandwiches in a cooler, and we were off to the ER. On the way there, I recalled my Dad's brilliant strategy for getting my younger brother to cooperate with doctors during his many incidents with stitches while growing up - bribery! If memory serves me correctly, I recall my brother enduring just about any medical intervention for a twenty dollar bill. (And I was allowed to get my ears pierced after one of my accidents; although I was anything but brave when it came to pain. Dad must've given in out of pity or something...) So as we drove to the ER, we prepped Matthew as best we could for what might be happening to him in a few minutes, and we offered a reward for his bravery...

Five stitches and two new toy trains later, we were on the way home. :)

Matthew usually does not endure pain well. Even a minor scrape could earn him an Academy Award. But with the hope of a new train from Toys R Us, he was the bravest kid on the block. I was shocked - and so proud of my little guy! He was numbed locally, but awake and watching as they stitched up his little cheek. They called in extra nurses to help, but he did not need to be restrained. He cooperated quite well, sweating like crazy and asking, "Are we done yet?" every few seconds.

And if I could get a little introspective here for a moment, I'd tell you that I look at Matthew knowing that he already bares emotional scars from his past. Many people think that adopting a child so young eliminates the possibility for any emotional trauma, but I know that Matthew had rough beginning to life. I know his personality and can see that his yearning to bond with someone who would not let him go went unmet for so long. I suppose that few kids would escape being given up by their birth mother and then living in an orphanage for 14 months without some emotional scars. So I guess I'm sad, when I see that now he'll bare a physical scar right on his precious face. I've been told a lot of encouraging things about scars ... "Boys love scars!" "Now he's a real man!" and even "Jesus has scars." It's true. There some positive sides to scars. At least this one came out of a happy time, anticipating playing trains with Daddy. This mark so prominently located on my son's face will serve as a reminder for me that there are also unseen scars on his precious little heart. I need that reminder sometimes when his behavior puzzles and frustrates me. Sometimes, I pridefully get caught up in worrying how his actions reflect on me and my parenting skills rather than to focus on training him with patience and a heart of compassion. There are wounds on his heart that I pray will heal over time by the power of the Almighty God who makes all things new and because of our efforts to love him unconditionally. One thing is for sure, this may not always be easy, but Tim and I count it a privelege and an honor to experience this miracle of love, this journey of faith called "parenthood" ... scars included.