This afternoon, Kachi was playing on the floor while I held Pascal on the couch. Kachi lost some cars beneath the couch so I got the broom and rescued them.
I pulled the last car out just in time to see an oblivious Pascal lean too far off the cushion.
I reached out and caught him.
In the face.
He landed on my hand full force, and I scooped him up and cradled him and cooed over him and kissed him. But he looked at me with the most baffled, reproachful expression. To him, I think, he'd just been happily watching Kachi when I suddenly womped him in the face with an open hand.
My hand, no doubt, was a softer landing than the floor. But he couldn't understand that I'd saved him from pain - he just felt hurt and betrayed. He didn't feel loved. He didn't feel rescued. But he was.
I feel like God has been saving that lesson for me for a while.
Sudden difficulties or sorrows feel like a smack to the face.
But they're not.
That's the kind of hands He's got.
So maybe I'll remember more easily, next time, that I'm as oblivious as Pascal - and that womp on the face was Him saving me from the floor.
He didn't feel loved.
He didn't feel rescued.
But he was.