Tears don’t need to be translated in any language …they are universally understood. Last month I cut my finger pretty badly. While working in the Compassion International kitchen preparing lunch I was chopping onions and going at a pretty rapid pace! One of the kids came into the kitchen, screamed out my name, and ran up to hug me from behind. When I heard my name I turned in the direction of his shouting. That’s all it took.
The next thing I knew my index finger was ablaze in fire of the cut and the onion juice!
Blood was flowing out rapidly and as I washed the cut to take a look I had to catch my breath! It was deep. And it wouldn’t stop bleeding. The advice….go to the “posta” which is their version of a 24 hr emergency clinic. Ummm yeah..no. It’s like a “wanna be” neighborhood medical center. There was no way I was going to get stitched up there. I would rather do it myself!!!
With 5 bandaids and pressure I got it to stop bleeding. So what was left to do? ….rest a bit and then serve lunch! Yes…..the area I was working in I had already cleaned up…no health worries. With the cut index finger extended out and the rest of my hand balancing trays of food I made it through.
So…today I write with a healed index finger, minus stitches, and a story that grows bigger by the day! The story today sounds more like … I practically cut off my finger, lost pints and pints of blood, walked 5 kilometers to the medical center and had to get my finger re-attached with over 50 stitches. Other than that…it’s all good!
Telling stories In His Mighty Grip,