Gage follows me into the bathroom and watches while I put the brush back where it belongs. As we turn to leave, he settles his gaze on the drawer where I keep the bandaids — the boring ones, and the ones I’ve collected just for him.

I can see his thoughts.

“Grandma,” he begins, “I hurt my nose.”

“You did? When did that happen?”

“Just now.”

I pull the drawer open to reveal the bounty within. “Would a bandaid help?”

He nods.

I pull out a small, nose-sized Batman bandaid. “How about this one?”


He smiles as I peel the back off and place the caped crusader on the bridge of his nose.

“My arm hurts too.”

Iron Man goes there.

“And my other arm.”

Hulk goes there.

Bandaged and happy, he follows me out to the living room and climbs on my lap. I pull a blanket around his shoulders, tucking it in close.

“Grandma, scratch my back.”

I do so, and he nestles against me. There should be singing, and so I do.

<em>Beautiful, beautiful</em>

<em>Jesus is beautiful</em>

<em>And Jesus makes beautiful things of my life</em>

His breathing slows and lengthens. Two more stanzas, and the little-boy snoring begins. It never fails.

He’s asleep, but I keep singing. I want the words to sink in. He needs to know this down to his bones.

<em>Carefully touching me</em>

<em>Causing my eyes to see</em>

<em>That Jesus makes beautiful things of my life</em>




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