If I look at my left thumb, I can observe the most miraculously ordinary biological drama unfolding. Three weeks, several inches of black nylon, medical care and incredible engineering are turning a once bloody wound into a remarkable scar. When I consider the two inches of pinkish newborn skin reconnecting my palm to my thumb, how can I not praise our Designer? “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.” (Psalm 139: 14)
The accident although minor is not welcomed. My initial analysis still stands: “stupid, stupid stupid!” I see no need to use all the words I initially employed to describe my sliced throbbing hand. The things I knew before I cut my hand: “carve away from your hand”, “tighten the vise”, and “if you need to push hard then stop and sharpen your knife” still apply. Scars are a miracle. God designed us with genes, grace and genius to overcome self-inflicted stupidity.
I hope full feeling replaces the blunt numbness and unnerving misfires of my left thumb-tip. Connie tells me that nerves regenerate about a millimeter per month. I hope my thumb soon moves so effortlessly that I forget a fine medical seamstress stitched it together. Even so may the arching pinkish ridge circling my left thumb remind me of the wonder God weaves into my life.