I was just lying in the bath drinking warm honey milk sprinkled with cinnamon and thinking to myself that everything was right in the world. I cannot remember the first time I ever drank this magic concoction, but I do remember a time once when I felt sure it was the only thing that would help.
My sister had hurt her foot and our parents were out. We were big enough to be home alone but not old enough to know how to deal with pain and we probably weren’t allowed to touch the medicine cabinet anyway. Eventually, I warmed up some milk for my patient whilst we waited for our mom to get home and make everything better again. I was young and my sweet sister younger, and as I did the only thing I knew to do, the pain she was in disappeared. I’ve always held this drink in high regard.
If our toddler is upset and I pray for him or kiss him where he’s hurt, he says “better” and carries on as if nothing has happened. There might be a swollen lip, blood stains on his shirt and tear streaks on his cheeks, but it’s over. He’s back in the game!
I distinctly remember several pairs of grown-up’s hands as they were when I was a child. One of my godmother’s had slender fingers and long, red nails. My Ouma had petite, hard working hands. My Mom’s hands were tanned, sporting a large diamond we could fiddle with (it’s not nearly as big as it used to be back then) and they created gardens and cooked food and could fix anything. These were all hands that would pull me in close if someone was leaving me out in a game. Hands that stroked my hair when I was sleepy. Hands that cupped my cheeks or held me across my tummy in a way that made me feel I was safe and belonged. So long as there were kind hands to position myself into, all was well, my troubles disappeared.
I wonder when we learn to hold onto our hurt so tightly? It seems to me that if milk, prayers, kisses and hands can fix problems so easily for the young ones, then why are so many of us older people experiencing upset in our bodies and souls that lingers on and on? Perhaps little ones feel the pain and immediately cry or insist on help. The pain hinders their play and their enthusiasm for life and they see the urgency of addressing it. We are older; playing less and working far too hard to stop for minor aches along the way. Maybe it all builds up and by the time we are paying attention to our discomfort, it’s become something too big to be fixed as easily as it was meant to be.
A child is dependent and relies on the elders in his or her community, getting help quickly when needed and believing that help will be granted. Perhaps when we grow up, we take independence too far. We don’t want to be an inconvenience or we think we will appear weak if we ask for help and because we believe that lie, we risk becoming just that.
Let’s be mindful of one another’s concerns, aches and pains. Things might become more complicated with age, I am not denying that. I am also holding on to this thought that mending all kinds of brokenness is not as complex as we imagine it to be. Men and women may be sceptical of my drink and feel it foolish to ask for kisses and prayers, but I’m feeling quite sure that situations begin to improve the minute we reach out and ask for a hand.
Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ. – Galatians 6 v 2
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