They have pierced my...well, just my big toe.
Well, I had to get some work done on my left big toe this weekend. I will not describe how inflamed and purple it was -- that would be gross (although in a weird kind of way, i must say that it was funny to keep hearing the doctors say, "eew, this is gross...boy am i glad i don't have to do these everyday...does it feel as bad as it looks?"). Neither will I describe the pool of blood that quickly formed where they took my nail away. But this i will mention: the Lidocaine (?) injections. Oh Boy.
Before I begin, however, I just want to say how much I appreciate the holy martyrs and how much I admire them for their courage and faithful endurance, and also, i should mention, how it is that they confirm God's ability to enter into the hearts of men.
I entered the operating room not knowing what to expect. They said that they had to numb my toe, or something to that effect, but i didn't have any fear or worry. I was ignorant of the needle to come. Well, not really ignorant, but having already fiddled with the toe before coming to the doctor (with nail clippers), I didn't think it would be anything I couldn't handle. Boy oh boy (as a Canadian hockey commentator might say). I felt three injections, but after the fact saw more like six little dots surrounding my toe. Little pricks like knives -- hitting the nerves. My little agony. My little crucifixion....just in time for Lent.
But excruciating though these devils were, the pain only lasted a few seconds (15 at most). And I hadn't been aware of what was coming; I hadn't sweated blood, after all....
Our lives are so soft. It's good to have such "unpleasant" moments to put familiar things in a new light. We are all accustomed to pain, and we know that it is unpleasant. But we (by which I mean I) sometimes forget about how unpleasant pain actually is. It wouldn't be excruciating pain, after all, if it were not excruciating. And if it were, somehow, not as bad as it should be, almost pleasant, then there might be something wrong with us. Christ on the Cross, and the holy martyrs who followed Him, felt pain. (By "pleasant" I mean in a strictly physical sense; martyrdom might be pleasant in a different sort of sense.)
I am ashamed to say that my first thoughts were vile (though I was relieved to find that the ensuing thoughts turned to Divine supplication), but considering the small scale of the injury, I pray to God that He never subject me to such a test at the large (heaven/hell) scale. And here and now I pray to God that He would give me courage -- the kind He had, and gave His martyrs -- to endure if ever I were chosen. Oh how sweet it would be to sing psalms in the face of death.
The Apostles scattering in the face of His arrest and then stretching out their hands to where they did not want them stretched can only mean one thing: No one would subject themselves to this for nothing. Ok, so maybe there could be one or two truly psychotic people. But hundreds, thousands....? No. He is their to help.
I am a weak man, my God.
Before I begin, however, I just want to say how much I appreciate the holy martyrs and how much I admire them for their courage and faithful endurance, and also, i should mention, how it is that they confirm God's ability to enter into the hearts of men.
I entered the operating room not knowing what to expect. They said that they had to numb my toe, or something to that effect, but i didn't have any fear or worry. I was ignorant of the needle to come. Well, not really ignorant, but having already fiddled with the toe before coming to the doctor (with nail clippers), I didn't think it would be anything I couldn't handle. Boy oh boy (as a Canadian hockey commentator might say). I felt three injections, but after the fact saw more like six little dots surrounding my toe. Little pricks like knives -- hitting the nerves. My little agony. My little crucifixion....just in time for Lent.
But excruciating though these devils were, the pain only lasted a few seconds (15 at most). And I hadn't been aware of what was coming; I hadn't sweated blood, after all....
Our lives are so soft. It's good to have such "unpleasant" moments to put familiar things in a new light. We are all accustomed to pain, and we know that it is unpleasant. But we (by which I mean I) sometimes forget about how unpleasant pain actually is. It wouldn't be excruciating pain, after all, if it were not excruciating. And if it were, somehow, not as bad as it should be, almost pleasant, then there might be something wrong with us. Christ on the Cross, and the holy martyrs who followed Him, felt pain. (By "pleasant" I mean in a strictly physical sense; martyrdom might be pleasant in a different sort of sense.)
I am ashamed to say that my first thoughts were vile (though I was relieved to find that the ensuing thoughts turned to Divine supplication), but considering the small scale of the injury, I pray to God that He never subject me to such a test at the large (heaven/hell) scale. And here and now I pray to God that He would give me courage -- the kind He had, and gave His martyrs -- to endure if ever I were chosen. Oh how sweet it would be to sing psalms in the face of death.
The Apostles scattering in the face of His arrest and then stretching out their hands to where they did not want them stretched can only mean one thing: No one would subject themselves to this for nothing. Ok, so maybe there could be one or two truly psychotic people. But hundreds, thousands....? No. He is their to help.
I am a weak man, my God.
posted by Emmanuyil at 18.3.06
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