For the last few months, my 10-year-old son has had a little knot on his right middle finger. We really had no idea what it was, but it bothered him enough that he wanted to go have a doctor check it out. Me being the mother who is either hyper-overprotective, or hyper-don’t-sweat-it, and never just a nice happy medium, was not concerned about it.
The doctor told us it was a ganglion cyst. NASTY! He assured us that it was no big deal, he could cut it out, put in a little stitch and a Band-Aid and we’d be on our way. Whew.
So we move along towards the procedure date and the night before when they call to schedule the time, I am made aware that they are going to put him out under general anesthesia. MINOR HEART ATTACK!
The procedure was as smooth as could be and as I was nervously tapping my feet and contemplating asking for a tranquilizer in the family waiting room at St. Francis Children’s Hospital, (gulp) the surgeon comes strolling into the (full) waiting room with a little cup and announces loudly, “Well, here’s the culprit! It was a big splinter!” I have never been more ashamed and relieved at the same time.
Upon closer examination, it was a thorn, probably from his last South Texas hunting trip nearly a year ago. Jaxon has a passion for annihilating any cactus that gets in the range of his Bowie knife. The thorn had gone deep into his finger, undetected by any of us, and his divinely designed, fearfully and wonderfully made little body had surrounded the thorn with protective tissue until it had become a cyst about the size of an eraser on the end of a pencil.
We proudly and sheepishly brought the treasure home in its little cup and celebrated with a milkshake and a new video game which he has happily been playing for about five hours.
So thank you Jesus for an inquisitive child, a steady-handed surgeon, sweet and gracious nurses, and your comforting Holy Spirit to hold my hand through the whole thing. I don’t know what I would do without you.