Burn Notice

Tonight Jacob found out the hard way. The stove really is hot. He's heard it for years and even believed it to an extent, but now he knows for a fact.

I was cooking supper and had just pulled the pan of confetti corn off the burner when Jacob, the boy who uses anything as a stool, pulled up Kaylen's little horsey on wheels and stepped up on it's back. Seconds later, screams fill my ears as the soft skin on his palm and fingers burned from the brief contact with the red hot stovetop.

Run hand under cold water. Smear with aloe. Hold cold towel on it. Repeat. I did what common sense told me would feel the best. Still there was a lot of crying, jumping up and down and blankie holding. Repeat.

My little man was so brave, though. Once the pain subsided a little he gobbled up his supper- during which I had to blow on his hand between bites of turkey burger (it was fab, maybe I'll share the recipe sometime). He talked frankly about how the stove hurt him and burned his hand. I think he even threw in a stern, "Bad stove!"

Had Jacob heeded the warning, his sweet soft baby hand would be perfectly fine right now, curled up under his chin as he sleeps. He didn't, though, and now he has to suffer through the consequences of blisters, scabs and healing skin. It's a lot like the Christian life, we know the warnings, hear them so frequently that we kind of tune them out, and then we get burned by our own irresponsibility. It's hard to bear the searing pain of a burn and harder still to be the loving Parent who gently applies the healing balm and in a still small voice has to remind you, "I told you it was hot."