"Do you have a ow-ee on your hand, Grandma?" said the small boy. His face wall all concern as his hand patted mine gently.
I glanced downward. "Oh, yes I suppose I do, my darling," said I. "But I'm sure it will be just fine real soon." He looked dubious, and disappeared somewhere. The 'ow-ee' had come by accident and looked worse than it actually was. But to a 3-year-old, if it was 'a ow-ee', then it was BAD. He has had many, and knows.
I was momentarily distracted, but soon felt a steady tap-tap-tapping on my leg. "Here, Grandma! Your bandaids!"
I looked at him and sure enough, there were two bandaids clutched in his hand, extended toward me. With his help, they were soon in place and his smile beamed deliciously. He has a 3-year-old's inherent faith in bandaids.
There is something about this small one that softens everyone who knows him. He notices, then acts. It is a handy quality to have around a busy home, because it lifts the hearts of the people inside. It is the sweetest thing.
If only all of the ills in this world could be healed by bandaids such as those so kindly proffered to me. Oh, wait! - maybe the sweetness and good will that motivated that small gift is the Gift itself. I can testify right now that the ow-ee felt better after such nice hands placed them on my wounds. The heart behind the hands.
As good Abe Lincoln said at his 2nd inaugural, it is the right thing to bind up one another's wounds, large and small. Whatever the quarrel, if there was one. Let it be the first response, and those who come after us will learn to do the same.
See you along the way!