ordinary miracle

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.

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