Scars Remain

It was probably a month ago. A cold night and I was tired. My dog, Lucy, was outside in the backyard. I went outside on the deck to call her in for the night. Her usual reaction is to run up to me, ready to go inside the house. Every so often, though, she likes to do this thing my wife calls, "pussyfooting," in which she clearly sees me on the deck, calling her, yet chooses to take one or ten final sniffs before relinquishing to my summons. This was one of the "pussyfooting" nights. I was a bit agitated that she knew what she was supposed to do yet refused to do it. When this happens, I usually walk out in the yard, grab her by the collar and pull her along. As I walked up to her, Lucy, sensing that she was in trouble, started to run in circles and sideways to avoid the impending wrath of her daddy. I don't mean to sound like I'm abusive or even harsh with her. Lucy's a wonderful dog who we've trained in the 'Caesar Milan' style. We are strict, but not harsh. She ran to and fro, trying to avoid me. I finally grabbed a hold of her and brought her up on the deck. On this night I was a bit rough when I forced her on the deck. I was making her lie down so that she would know that she had misbehaved. In doing this, I hit my hand on one of the wood planks, cutting my left ring finger. Ouch. The last thing I needed along with irritation was pain and blood. And so began a lesson that I think God is trying to teach me.

As I said in the opening sentence of this blog, it's been around a month since that incident. My 'wound' is still visible and is healing at a painfully slow pace. I emphasize painfully because almost every day since cutting my finger I've found a way to hit it on something. It really, really hurts when I do that. It's a very physical reminder to me that I should have been more patient with Lucy that night. It's also a reminder that I will need to have extra patience in several months when I become a father for the first time. While I've come along way with patience since high school, I still somehow have a long way to go. Thank God for scars that keep reminding me of my stupidity and impatience. Most days, a quick, painful slap on the hand is probably just what I need. As I look down at my left ring finger, I smile. I'm sure I'll bump it on something today and immediately cringe. But then I'll smile again. I need those reminders. I'm too impatient to reflect on my stupidity otherwise.