Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Innocent Expletive

A couple of hours ago, Jonathan helped me prepare our crockpot dinner. I quartered the potatoes, and he put them in the crockpot. He got a little too excited in his efforts to grab each potato piece just as soon as it was chopped, and neither he nor I noticed his fingers inching closer and closer to my cutting knife.

Until I cut through a potato and suddenly felt something much softer hit the blade of my knife. I withdrew immediately and let out an audible gasp. Jonathan and I both froze and looked at each other with wide eyes. I was HOR - RI - FIED.

Jonathan peered down at his finger, which wasn't bleeding, and said, "I'm alright. It's okay. It doesn't hurt."

I grabbed his fingers in my hand and brought them close to my eyes. The knife blade had just barely broken the top layer of skin, which hung off his finger like a miniscule sliver of potato. It didn't even need a bandage.

But probably to aleviate my own shock and guilt, we ran it under water and bandaged it just the same. There was, after all, a teeny bit of raw skin.

After I preached Jonathan (and myself) a tidy little sermon about kitchen safety and staying away from knives, we finished quartering the potatoes and planted them all safely in the crockpot.

Unable to keep my mind from wandering to the spiritual significance, I contemplated the inevitable analogy. Sometimes, in life, we get super close to the edge of something we should be staying clear away from. God, in His grace, occasionally allows us to get a layer or two of skin shaved off, in an effort to protect us from actually ending up cut and bleeding. Losing a layer of skin stings like crazy! And it propels us away from danger.

This is where the analogy breaks down, of course, because we all know I would never intentionally expose my sweet son to a knife blade for any reason.

Anyway, I am extremely thankful that with the least amount of injury possible, we all learned a very tangible lesson about knives. A lesson which will serve as a reminder in Jonathan's impressionable four-year-old mind for a very long time.

(But I still feel horrified.)

The funny part, though, is the precise way in which Jonathan is babying his bandaged finger.