[The
Lord] heals the brokenhearted
and
binds up their wounds. (Psalms 147:3 NIV).
Today
my friend Marvin Sweat (a 92 year old Methodist minister) and I had
breakfast as usual on Saturday mornings at Kissin' Cuzzins. Like
every Saturday, it was a love feast. Today I saw several people
there from work, and Ronnie on her leaving came over to our table and
hugged me. After breakfast Marvin and I left in my car. The tank
was nearly empty, so we headed to Sam’s Club to get gas. I pulled
kind of close to the pump so had to maneuver a bit to get out of the
door. Somehow in the process I closed the car door on my thumb where
metal meets metal. A sharp pain immediately followed. My thumbnail
turned a dark blue, and it throbbed with pain.
Call
me nuts but I think this incident—on the heels of a love feast
imbued with its warm glow of endearment and laughter—came as a
wakeup call to remind me that all in this world is not sweetness and
light. Real, unadulterated pain exists both mentally and physically.
I thought of the Boston bombings and all the pain that caused. It
is my opinion that the bombers were high-flying young romantics who
in their view saw only the grand, detached gesture—they completely
discounted the real, prolonged, and intimately inflicted pain that
would come days on end with torn tissue, ligaments, and shattered
limbs. It is my firm belief that we should always consider the wide
human vulnerability (which impacts each one of us) to indulge in
unreality. How many times have I made some sweeping grand gesture
that completely discounted the pain that would result? Perhaps it
was a self-righteous vote I cast, or some oratorical flourish spat
out, or an intentional turning away, or some set-in-my-ways opinion.
My prayer tonight is that my throbbing thumb will insinuate itself
into my long-term consciousness as a lasting reminder that bliss in
this world is certain to be offset by pain—most especially when I
would deny pain’s very existence.
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