On Thumbs

Other possible titles for this entry included:
-Ouch.
-Well, that hurt.
-Warning: This Entry Involves Blood.
-We'd never know what's wrong without the pain.
-You don't appreciate something until you find that you can't use it.
-I never really knew how much I used my thumb until my thumbnail decided to come off.

To tell the story -

Back in Morocco, one evening towards the end of the trip, I was getting ready for bed. Brushed my teeth, and then proceeded to grab the mouthwash bottle. Being that my hands were wet, my right hand slipped on the bottle cap and my thumb jammed into the lid. We then proceed to typical gasping of pain, some bleeding underneath the nail and soreness and bruising around the right side of the nail. Took some painkillers and didn't think much of it. Soreness continued during the remainder of the trip. Had to think of creative ways to trim my fingernails and play my guitar.

Back home, it didn't come to mind much; after all, I was in the midst of helping get all of my brother's wedding details worked out, and then I got my nails painted for the wedding. True, it still hurt, especially whenever I bumped it, but that was to be expected.

I finally noticed it after the nail polish had come off the week after the wedding. It was a yellowish bruise on the entire right side of my right thumb nail. And I had lots of fun commenting to whoever noticed that it was my Morocco bruise. I mean - it's not every day you get to go to Morocco and you get a really cool bruise that will most likely stay with you for a really long time (for, having acquired my fair share of bruises underneath nails, I can accurately testify to their persistence).

That was the middle of July. Fastfoward about a month, and I notice that it's starting to chip right in the middle of my nail. I start wearing a bandaid quite frequently in the hopes of avoiding any further chippage, but that is not to be. A month later (i.e., mid-September), it is now almost halfway ripped off, for despite my best intentions, it still gets caught and pulled on all sorts of things. And just darn hurts.

And then, last night. I was trying to pack some clothes for an overnight trip to my mother's. Sounds simple enough, right? Nope. I bent down to pick something up and my thumb accidentally hits the corner of a cardboard box. My thumb was covered at the time, but this did not prevent it from ripping off completely. Now, it's extremely sore.

But I don't mind. I really don't. I see it as a physical reminder of my time in Africa. There were lessons learned there that I do not want to forget. Ever. Lessons such as God's provision and His perfect timing. A deeper understanding of what an eternal perspective looks like, and being awed and humbled and overjoyed at being able to labor side by side with some of the best people I have had the privilege of knowing. Lessons such as trusting that God really does have me in the palm of His very capable and very large hands, and that He does have a plan for me, a much bigger plan that I ever dreamed possible. Lessons such as forgiveness and letting go and reconciliation. A reminder that I am not perfect yet, but one day I will be.

So I smile at the bandaid on my thumb, and laugh at myself as I clumsily attempt to take off my necklaces or type or write with a pen. And I thank God for the pain. What is a little pain in my thumb when I am reminded daily of how very big God is? And what is a little pain compared to the pain He went through for me and for the people I served over there and who need His love more than anything?