The halt and the lame

Today we were communion servers at first service (8:15). I try to be presentable--those parts that show. We wear neck to ankle white robes with a tie belt. I don't wear open toe shoes or sandals, because people are at the communion rail looking down--just about 2' from my shoes. I make sure my fingernails are clean and manicured, nails trimmed. Not much perfume or cologne. OK.

Friday night we were both injured. On our hands. I was getting ready for bed and somehow, while removing a piece of underwear, something that had both elastic and a little metal slider slipped lose and smacked the knuckle of the middle finger left hand. Ow, that hurt. Then I looked at it and within seconds it began to swell and turn blue. Must have been some sort of delicate blood vessel close to the surface. But I turned on the TV and climbed into bed. It was warm on Friday and I was enjoying having the windows open, perhaps for the last time of the season, listening to the insects and the train whistle in the distance. My husband came in the room and in the dark began to bring the storm window down. I asked him not to, but he insisted it was going to get cold. What's the temperature, I asked. 72. Please leave it up, I'm enjoying it--it's NOT cold. Just then the half raised very heavy storm fell on the tip of his middle finger. He screamed and writhed on the floor. I thought I might have to call the squad. For all I knew his finger could have been out on the patio! (It was dark.) Blood was squirting, I kid you not. He rushed into the bathroom and rinsed it while I searched for a band-aid. He's OK, but couldn't paint yesterday and is wearing a band-aid to protect it.

Today the bruised (my finger is purple) and bandaged Bruces offered the blood and body of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ to other clumsy but redeemed sinners.