A family member recently broke his hand. I felt for him, he was in a lot of pain.
I remember how bad that felt because I’ve had a couple of broken bones in my time. How about you?
For instance I broke one of my little fingers a few years ago. I had a Siberian husky who loved to run. I couldn’t let her run free so I had the bright idea of using a clothesline for a leash.
The husky and I went to a park and I let her fly. And fly she did, running this way, that way, then the other way. Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in my hand. She had changed direction while I wasn’t paying attention. I looked at my little finger. It didn’t look right, then I realized it was broken. I spent the next few weeks with my pinkie wrapped tight.
Then there was the time I was relaxing in a backpacker’s hammock up in the cool pines of Ruidoso. Just for fun I was making it swing and swing and swing and swing and BAM. Next thing I know I’m on the ground. The hammock broke; no warning, no ripping. There was big pain in my chest: I had cracked a rib or two.
There was nothing to be done but wait for my ribs to heal. A few weeks later when the daily pain in my chest stopped I figured I was OK. I was helping someone at work take some stuff outside, my arms were full so I shoved the door open with my chest. There was this deep “thunk” inside my body then that familiar pain returned. I had re-cracked my ribs.
Broken bones are just more lessons on the journey of life.
It’s a good thing the body heals itself.
Amazing, ain’t it?