When a cut is more than a cut

By Peggy Weber

It all started when I found a bag of jelly nerds. It was two days before Lent and it seemed like a good time to open them.

However, they looked like choking hazards for the grandchildren so my husband began to cut them in half. Good idea. However, I thought he should use a straight edge knife. He preferred a serrated edge. 

So I started cutting them as well. There was no need for me to do this other than to prove my point. The first was a perfect slice. I smiled, perhaps a bit triumphantly. The second slice did not go so well. I got distracted and ended up cutting both the nerd and my thumb. 

It was bleeding and hurt.  I wrapped it and grumbled about being careless. However, my husband thought it should be checked out. This time I did not disagree. 

So there I sat in a walk-in clinic waiting to see if I needed stitches.

And as I sat,  I realized that this waste of resources and time was caused by my stubborness and pride. I wanted to prove that one knife would work better than another. It all seemed so silly now.

And it made me realize that although I had liked the homily I had heard that morning I had not yet embraced the meaning.

The celebrant suggested that during Lent we should think about what we need to let go. He asked us what was keeping us from getting closer to God.

Now I got it. That very same stubborness and pride that led to the "great nerd cutting debate of 2022" might be what I needed to jettison. My cut represented so much more than being careless. It showed me that what  often keeps me from truly trusting God is my pride. I pray to follow God's will but I often want my will to be done. And my stubborness certainly does not help. 

There was a lot of time for reflection in a busy waiting room. I texted my husband who was waiting in the parking lot. Because of restrictions he was not allowed to come into the office. I told him I was sorry about all of the trouble with my finger and thanked him for driving me and caring for me. He sent back an emoji heart.

When I was finally seen, 90 minutes later, my finger was bandaged. No stitches were required but it was a nasty cut. 

My husband drove me home and I apologized, again. He just gave me a big hug and we ate our supper.

In a weird way, my cut finger was wonderful experience and made me long to be a better person. It also made me yearn to go to confession to tell God that I am sorry and I trust that he knows the best way to cut a candy.