Two stitches holding me together...

Yesterday, Kristiana and I decided to make a large and lovely pot of vegetable, bean, and barley soup. Delectable. Delicious. Dangerous.

Well, the soup wasn't dangerous. But the knife that I sharpened in order to cut the sweet potatoes was.

Well, the knife wasn't dangerous. But when I stuck my hand into the soapy water in the sink to grab something to wash, the blade of the knife was facing up, my right pinkie was facing down, and they met.

Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

Blood flowed. As did my tears. Steve rushed home from work to take me to urgent care. By the time we got there, the bleeding had stopped. I expected the doctor to say that they could just bandage it well and send me on my way. Nope. They advised me to get a tetanus shot and then proceeded to close the gap in my finger with two stitches. And for the foreseeable future: no dishwashing.

It has proved much more difficult than I expected to let go of the reins of doing housework.
To ask for help with simple things.
To type without my pinkie.
But I am learning how to swallow my pride and let things go, accept the help of my family, and stop apologizing for needing emergency medical attention.

As always, the first thing I did when we were back at home after my little adventure was give thanks to God that it wasn't any worse than it was. I could have severed a nerve or a tendon. I could have been burned by the soup pot. Our house could have been damaged as a result of the horrific gas leak at the end of our driveway this past summer. In all of the times I have washed dishes in the past, on all of the car rides and train trips and flights, in any or all of those ordinary but potentially life-threatening moments of life, tragedy could have befallen us. We could have faced yesterday's little incident without the rich blessing of health insurance to cover our costs. If that had been the case, I would probably not have gone for help and would have faced the possibility of infection and deeper damage to my finger and an even larger bill for later assistance.

So many possibilities.
So much protection from harm.
So much for which to give thanks.


After a terrible car accident involving five young women she knows, Jen Gray wrote a moving piece the other day that speaks to the sacredness of life, the need to put and keep the big things and the little things in their proper perspective, and to take time to honor and celebrate the miracle that is this life we live.


Every time that I look at this damaged pinkie over the next ten days,
every time I change the bandage and apply antibiotic ointment to the wound,
every time that I think of the two stitches that are holding me together,
I will remember Jen's words:

"This life is holy.
This life is sacred.
This life is to be cherished."



PS. I am sure many of you appreciate the fact that there are no photos with this post. After all the years of me looking at countless cuts, bruises, puddles, and piles that they have endured and produced, my husband and children flatly refuse to look at my stitches. Wimps!!!