Cold weather brings out the tender spot in my left pinkie. The tenderness isn’t bothersome, but is just noticeable enough to remind me of the incident when the tenderness began.
I was fifteen, just old enough to have friends with a car and license. On this particular day, I was given a ride home from school; and had just waved good-bye to my friend Chuck, when I tumbled up the steps leading into the house. My shoes flew one way, my books another and my left hand pushed its way through the glass of the storm door.
Blood was dripping, Chuck was long gone and the closest neighbor wasn’t near enough to help. As any good teenage girl does in such a crisis, I called Mom, who was at work, 11 miles away. I’m not sure what I expected her to do; but, after wrapping up my finger, it seemed necessary to tell Mom what had happened. I gave her the details; and then, promptly announced, “Gotta go, Mom, I’m going to bleed on the carpet!”
It didn’t take Mom long to make the drive home. I was a bit surprised to see her, but she seemed to think it was important for me to see the doctor. I suppose that was a good thing as stitches were quite necessary.
So, to this day, my left pinkie carries a tender spot. My heart carries a few tender spots as well, reminiscent of those times when I tripped, fell and needed the tender care of Jesus. The fact that He binds my wounds and sorrows, cares for me, and brings healing, leaves a tender spot each time. Just as my pinkie scar reminds me of the mother’s care, my life scars remind me of Jesus’ care. Those scars are actually sweet to me as tender spots pointing to my beloved care-giver, protector, and healer. Precious points of remembrance shared only with Him.
