scabs are shallow comparatively to the hurt that aches within. It is only a small thing and the entire top is torn off, leaving fresh tears and new pain.
Remembering that His healing hand is more thorough than man's potions, lotions and creams. Trusting that His cleansing of the wound, while painful, is still necessary debridement preparing for new skin to graft and grow. His Words are not anesthetic but a soothing Mother's kiss against a stinging scrape. There is not magic in the kiss. The love behind it calms and reassures.
Scars? Yes. But looking at the scars with eyes of understanding, fresh compassion results. Grief is shared. Burden is borne not alone but within the pale of temporal trouble. Removed completely at eternal fulfillment. Still overcome in this world's measure. With His certain peace.
I am just a Mom. But He is the Lord. And He gently leads those with young. Those young with deep wounds.
I am counting on it. With my life.