It was a cold, snowy winter day in the midwest.  The hill was waiting for us as we tugged the sled behind us to prepare to 'let her rip' down the hill.  Most of the parents stood back, to observe their children's delight of sliding down the hill then their exhausting climb back to the top.  It all seemed like fun and an adventure.  
  I urged the boys into the florescent orange sled after we found our spot.  I put the oldest in the back, the younger in the front, telling his brother to hang onto him. With a slight nudge, they were flying down the hill with squeals of laughter and fun.  I giggled and smiled at the adolescent fun, watched as they came to a halt and got out to pull the sled back up the hill.
  When they returned each talked at the same time, ending with me going with them.  I felt my childhood return.  We all three packed into the tiny sled and flew even faster down the hill, wind whipping our faces, then came the eventual halt.  I grabbed the sled as the boys buzzed like bee's at the fun.  I looked up the hill...uh, it was steep.  They had made the climb look easy.  They followed me up the hill as we prepared for another descent.  This time my oldest decided he and I would enjoy the journey.  I stepped in first with my son in front  holding the line.  The youngest gave us a small push and we were off!  This time I felt every bump along the way, then our weight shifted and the sled veered to the right then went backwards.  We hit another bump and we went sideways and flew into the air.  I held onto my oldest to protect him as I rolled over top of him and around again.  The sled went one way as we rolled the other and landed on our backs.  He began to wail as blood dripped from his nose.  It stopped in less than a minute, but not before I examined him for any other injury.  After a moment, he jumped up and announced the fun was over and I was on my own.  We slowly trudged up the hill and the youngest was full of concern.  He agreed with his brother upon observation more than two in a sled was not going to happen again.  We finished a few more single runs and headed back home.  I felt fine as the tumble we took did not hurt me in the least, although I could testify the ground was hard.
   The next morning I had a few tender places, not enough to distract, but by that evening I was slightly sore and found to my amazement I sported four huge bruises that were black and blue!  I had not felt any pain that would result in such bruises.  My oldest did not have one bruise, nor a sore nose.  Then, it occurred to me the lesson of how wonderful our God is.  He sent His son, Jesus Christ to take away the bruises, the impact of sin, so each day we can start without a blemish or soreness.  Jesus took the brunt of the pain as our Father checks us over and lovingly sends us on our way with a fresh start.  Wow. 

His blessings,

FullFillYourDestiny:  A Ministry of Encouragement
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