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Mommy It Hurts

Mommy It Hurts

As a parent, there are many different words our children say that affect us deeply. Just a few letters strategically strung together have the power to devastate or melt our hearts. Words like:

“I love you.”

“I hate you.”

“Will you cuddle with me?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Thank you for everything you do for me.”

“You never help me.”

“I’m going to marry Mommy when I grow up.”

“I’m engaged!”

There is another grouping that has recently caused my heart to buckle under its weight.

“Mommy, it hurts.”

For more than one hundred and fifteen consecutive days my son has complained of intense abdominal pain. Pain that has resulted in countless tests, repeated emergency room visits, and a colorful array of medications and doctors. All have been without relief. Over a hundred days now, at one point or another, my son utters those three distressing words.

One particularly painful day I took a notebook with me to secretly mark every time he said, “Mommy, my tummy hurts.” I turned to leave his room after a good night kiss and jotted down the last tick mark for the day. There were exactly one hundred.

One hundred times I could only hold him and respond with, “I’m so sorry baby.”

No favorite movie, no day at the park, or no triple scoop chocolate dipped ice cream cone would make it go away.

Every doctor’s visit filled with the hope that this will instantly go away is met with the devastating realization that in medicine, everything isn’t always black and white and for some things there are no quick fixes.

The pain of watching your child suffer can be paralyzing. Many nights after tucking him into bed I collapse into my own as a pillow masks my sobs.

My superhero cape is gone and I can no longer save the day. Dangling from the building I feel each finger slowly pull away from the safety of the ledge and I plummet. Freefalling as if in slow motion into the unknown, I sink further down.

I reach for my Bible, thrust it wide open, and press it close to my chest. At times, I can’t even bring myself to let words escape.

Faster than a speeding bullet, two strong hands swoop in to catch me and end my descent.

My unspoken words were heard and my silent cry for help answered.

My feet find their way to solid rock and I am safe once more.

Those three little words that hurt so bad when uttered by my son are the very same words God hears from me.

“Daddy, it hurts.”

Have your children spoken words that have broken your heart? Words that you long to make better but can’t?

When answers elude you and your fingers slip, fall into everlasting arms. Find strength in the safety of God’s word and know that just as we do not go untouched by the feeling of our child’s infirmities, neither does God.

By: Callie Daruk is a smitten wife and a joyful mother to three boys in Nashville, TN. As a freelance writer, blogger, and speaker, she encourages others to seek Christ with their whole heart. Connect with her at, and on Twitter and Facebook.

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