broken

This is my toe.




Pleas excuse the morbid close-up. I took this with my camera phone, while balancing on one foot. Trying desperately, I might add, to not fall and hit my broken toe.

This week at school, the broken toe has been a huge asset. I usually am standing all day, or singing with my kids while dancing around, but never resting. But, enter the toe.
Because on Monday it was hugely swollen and totally black and blue, our school nurse made me sit and put ice on aforementioned toe. This has been great because I've spent most of the week sitting in front of my class, with my foot elevated on a bar stool.

Besides, my kids think it's cool. They ask every day if it's still purple, and if it still hurts me.

Still a little purple, but doesn't hurt unless I bump it.

...

Really, the broken toe got me thinking yesterday. I am a klutz, and have had several broken bones in my life. Several casts, splints, braces, and taped up toes. My friend Cathy said last weekend that she has never had a broken bone. I really was stunned at that, just because I have had so many.

But the main gist of my recent thinking is that we are all broken. Eventually my toe will heal, and I won't even feel it anymore. One of my students is in a boot; she will heal up, be out of the boot, and be all fine at some point. But regardless of your broken-bone history, everybody is broken. We all have baggage. We all have hurts in our lives that affect us every day.
Even Cathy of the "never-broken-a-bone" fame.

Our brokenness affects everyday life, jobs, relationships, the way you treat the person ringing up your groceries.

Even though we are all made up of basically the same stuff, our baggage and our brokenness has a great deal to do with how we live our lives.

I am SO grateful that Jesus was broken so I have a way out of brokenness.

I am SO grateful that because He loves me, I can be whole. Regardless of the toe.

K

scars

Since it is summer (no school), I've been reading a lot. I think the total since we got out at the end of May is 27 books. I have two going right now, so does that make a weird non-whole number? Like 28.3298714?

Anyway, I was reading a book the other day, and part of the plot involved the main character talking about a scar they had.

This got me to thinking about scars.

Also got me thinking about my scars. And where they came from.

I have a scar on my left pointer-finger, where I was playing "Yan Can Cook" with a meat cleaver cutting carrots. Ended with a scar, but I kept my finger.

I have a strange scar on the inside of my right foot where I was pushed into a sprinkler head. It ripped open my foot and when it "healed", the nerves were still rearranged so I couldn't swim all that summer. The water flowing over that place gave me the willies and I had to get OUT OF THE POOL. NOW!

Those are the major ones, but there are minor ones too, like the last knuckle on the right pointer finger. It is shaped funny because once when I was catching in a softball game, Dana Baldwin was pitching and I had to do a throw-down to second. I was a little nervous about getting that throw-down in time to get the runner out so I ended up with my right hand in the glove a split-second before the ball. It totally crushed my right index finger. It took me a year to grow a "normal" fingernail on that finger, and you can still tell today that my 2 fingernails and last knuckles look different.

I also have a couple tattoos, which I consider scars too. They are part of my life, and I guess if you look at them in the medical sense, they are scars with ink in them.

Here's the deal with my scars:

I would not give up one of them, no matter how small or how major they are. Every scar on my body comes from my life, and I love my life. Every scar or experience has taught me something, and every scar has made me the person I am today.

I don't want to be flawless or without scars, because that would mean I didn't live MY life. Every scar is a memory. Every scar is a reminder of the life I've lived and the experiences I've had.

Here's to claiming all of your scars.
K

my fortune

I got Chinese food for dinner last night.

Nothing weird about that - there's an Asian restaurant near my house that makes Chinese and Vietnamese food, and I wanted to try it. It was good, even though I got the same thing I always get. Dialogue in my head, while standing at the counter, looking at the menu:

"I really should try something different."

"Ooooh, that looks good."

"THAT looks really good."

"Maybe I should try the Pho - I've heard that's tasty."

"Well, I can't decide, so I guess I'll get the same thing as always."

...

It's sad. Really sad.



Anyway, I'm a little off topic.
Last night, after finishing dinner, I opened the fortune cookie. My fortune said..."Practice an attitude of gratitude."

Now I think this is a really weird fortune, but I think it is fabulous advice.

I'm going to take it to heart. I'm not sure how well I will practice an attitude of gratitude next week when I have to go back to school, but I am going to try. I'm going to put this little fortune on my desk as a reminder that I should be grateful for all the wonderful things in my life.

This is one fortune that will have an impact on my life.
K