I woke up this morning to an especially trying day ahead.  I knew when I went to bed last night today was going to be hard, and even though it is only 8:30 am in Cleveland it is not disappointing me.

As with most mornings,  my first thought was to let the dog out, grab a cup of coffee, turn on the morning news to see how bad the world is starting out (never said I wasn't a tad bit pessimistic), and then get ready for the day.  That means saying my first prayer of the day - my Novena to St. Joseph for my children, Chaplet of Divine Mercy for my children, or the Rosary for my children...If nothing else, I am consistent with my prayers for my children.

But as I was opening the door to let the dog out, I caught my ankle, bled all over my white carpet, said a few words loud enough to scare my dog, then grabbed a band aid and started to clean up the stain..or tried to.  Going for that coffee I discovered too late my cream had gone bad...nothing worse than seeing curds in that first cup of coffee. I decided to skip the morning news and went right to the Chaplet of Divine Mercy.

Today, saying my prayers, I looked at the band aid on my ankle...and that's when it hit me.

How many times growing up did we ignore our parents until we needed them to put a band aid on our problems?  I remember running out the screen door on a summer afternoon oblivious to any words my mom said - but when I skinned my knees falling off my bike she was the one I would run to.  And the band aid would come on.

There were times when I would run into the surf and cut my foot on a clam shell.  The next minute I'd be running back up to the shore crying to my parents.  They'd dry my tears, clean the cut, and put on a band aid.   Most times I would be a tad bit more careful for a while - but without fail, I'd be right back out there running headlong into another wave without care. That is until I once again became injured and needed another band aid.

Lucky for me,  my parents were always there to pick me up and put another one on.

How many times do we, as adults,  run to God for a Band aid? How many times does He provide that Band aid,  we are thankful, and we remain close to Him - until we  run right back into our Life?  I am guilty of doing that more times than I can count - although I know He knows how many band aids I have asked for over the years.  And yet, He is always there with another when I need one.

We are His children alright...always asking for a Band aid for our hurts, our pain, our needs.  Thank you God for being there!  We are so blessed.

Copyright 2011 Carol S. Bannon