Last week, I walked into a cupboard door with my face and it fell off (the door not my face).
I staggered back as I caught the heavy glass and wood door. Stunned, I set it down and raised my hand to the tender spot just above my left eyebrow. When I took it away there was blood on my fingers. I had a cut over my eye and it seemed to be swelling.
A few hours later the spot turned a pretty pinky-purpley shade. If it had been an eye-shadow color choice at the store, I would have bought it. But when I looked in the mirror, my reflection scared me. The bruise was so close to my eye. It could have been worse; much worse.
When I squinted it hurt. When I washed my face it hurt. When I rolled over on my side at night it hurt. All week-long, the bruise continued to remind me of how fragile my body is; how easily it could be hurt, crushed, or broken. It also struck me that I really need to avoid walking into doors.
While my bruise pains me, it’s not fatal. What about other bruises in life?
We endure tragedy, loss, lies and mistakes: the debilitating disease that we cope with; a lie someone tells us, but we discover the truth or a failed business venture that can be written off.
We can use our bruisings as lessons to learn from, to comfort others in similar situations, and to forgive. In that victorious moment a bruise becomes a blessing.
What do you think?
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