New Year’s day broke clear and bright two years ago. With a pantry of groceries and plans for new recipes, I started dicing a raw yam. Not too long later, I sat in urgent care, keeping my thumbnail on with a clean rag and pressure.
The doctor would need to look at the laceration. His poking, prodding, and pulling came before he numbed me. My tolerance for pain is high, but even I needed deep breaths as he explored the wound. I declined his repeated offer to look at it for myself. As I declined, he commented how fascinating it was. I appreciated his fascination, and his obvious enjoyment in his job, but I had to remind myself: don’t hate the guy healing you.
After the first nerve blocker injection, he massaged my thumb to get the blocker moving. Don’t hate the guy healing you.
My body, traditionally stubborn toward numbing agents, didn’t spread the nerve blocker to the wound, and neither did the second. As someone who doesn’t like seeing skin pierced (it really should remain intact), it was a mistake for me to watch the the third injection. “Who knew needles were so bendy,” I thought as he moved the needle in and around the joint to find the right place for the injection. Don’t hate the guy healing you.
Soon the appointment was over, and I walked away with a rather large pressure bandage and progressive instructions for care.
Life is like that. We mess up and consequences come. We seek out healing, but the healing process itself can be painful. But for those in the household of faith, we can trust the Great Physician that each and every poke, prod, and injection is necessary for healing. And though it may take several weeks before the bandages come off, and the lingering tinge where the cut touched a nerve may last years, the Guy healing you did, in fact, heal you.
“Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.” –1 Thessalonians 5:23-24, ESV