“Mommy” he says, extending his pinkie finger to my face. “My finger has a owie” Kneeling, I inspect his scabbed knuckle. “Yes you do.” I confirm.
“Yeah. I scraped it on the side of your house when I was riding my bike.”
“Yes you did” I smirk while inspecting the scab.
“Oh good! It’s healing. Your body’s healing itself.” My words trail off as I wonder if I should be giving credit to his body or to God who heals and who makes bodies to heal.
“God is healing my finger.” He corrects. I grin.
God is definatly active in this boy, in my heart, in this room.