Cut Off

I had finally cleared space to wash, core, and chop the 15+ pounds of sweet peppers we harvested from our garden. I thought this would be fun to conquer with my son, Gabriel. He stood across the island from me, each of us with our own cutting board and chef’s knife.

We joked about who had chopped more peppers, and at one point we even got the scale out to weigh our jars and compare. I was careful not to let it turn into an actual race. I told him we needed to be careful so we didn’t lose a finger.

I nicked my thumbnail a couple of times. In hindsight, I should have heeded the warning and slowed down even more. I’ve replayed the next moments several times in my head, trying to pinpoint exactly where things went wrong. I was chopping four or five peppers at once. They weren’t cutting all the way through, so I slowed down and used more force. I can’t recall for sure, but I believe the stack of peppers must have slipped, because I can’t think of any other way the knife would have come down on my thumb the way that it did.

I put the knife down, grabbed my thumb to apply pressure, and tried to process what needed to happen next. I knew at least a chunk of my thumb had been cut. I wasn’t sure yet how bad it was, but it hurt, and I was afraid to look.

I walked over to the sink, still holding my thumb. I called for Savannah to get me some clean gauze so I could cover it. Then I ran water over it. I could feel how deep it was—the sensation was alarming. I covered it with the gauze and after a minute, I reluctantly asked Savannah to look at it.

She took one look and said, “I’ll drive you.” That prompted me to finally look for myself. Yikes! And off to the hospital we went.

Fast forward: my thumb is fine, but it looks gnarly, and it still hurts. I did, indeed, chop a good bit off the tip of my thumb. When it heals, I’ll take a picture I can share publicly. Right now, it still looks pretty gross.

Maybe you’re wondering why I’m sharing this.

I’d agree that it’s really not worthy of a blog post all by itself. People get cut all the time. Even the ER physician explained that injuries like mine are very common this time of year (canning season.)

So why share a common injury? I decided to share because I don’t want to forget how God has used this incident to minister to me (yet again) about an unresolved, ongoing struggle.

The day after I injured my thumb, I was packing up the kids to go down to the river that is within walking distance of family. I had considered that maybe my thumb incident had broken the surface tension and I could gloss things over with everyone. I wasn’t mad or upset. I wasn’t in a hurry. I was just deep in thought as I folded towels—wondering how seeing them might look and how I could start the necessary conversations. A moment later, as I was lifting a half-folded towel, my thumb hit the van door. I screamed in pain and then noticed the blood starting to leak through the wound adhesive. What in the world caused that? I knew almost immediately.

“I cut you off.” Ouch.

I didn’t like the reminder, but I heard God clearly: “I cut you off. I got this.” I don’t want to paint the illusion that I can hear God audibly. It’s really just an understanding spoken in silence—like an instant download of knowing something. I knew He was reminding me that I was not going to be glossing over anything. He didn’t want me initiating conversations and attempting to force peace. I was cut off for their good. And that makes me praise God. I am so thankful for His reminders and for His provision… even when they hurt.

Pain is a really good teacher, and this new gnarly, messed-up thumb of mine is my current reminder. God cut me off for their good—and for mine—and He’s still the one doing the pruning. All I have to do is slow down, stop trying to take things back into my own hands, and let Him finish what He started.

I can’t say that I love-love this, but I kind of do.