Better Than A Nail

I'd like to offer a brief warning about this post. It's not meant to turn anyone's stomach, but I do describe very briefly a medical procedure I had done recently. The video at the end also contains a fairly graphic representation of the pain the Christ endured as He neared the end of His life. I make no apologies, but I do offer a warning. Considered yourself advised.



I had surgery last week. It was a carpal tunnel release surgery on my right hand. I had my left hand done a month ago, and it's healing nicely. Going in this time, I knew pretty much what to expect, which parts would hurt the worst, which would not hurt at all, how the whole surgery room procedure would go. It's an outpatient procedure, and it's just my hand, so it really was no big deal. But I knew, having done this once before, that when the doctor injected the three big gobs of local anesthesia into the palm of my hand, it was going to hurt. That was all I thought about as my mother (yes, my mother...I'm forty but I still throw her a bone on occasion and let her take care of me) drove me to the surgery center. I wasn't worried, like I said - I survived it once. I just knew that would be the worst part.

As they prepped me for surgery I started thinking of how I could minimize the little burst of pain and uncertainty that comes when they start injecting you like that. I decided I would think about other people that were going through physical storms that were enduring much more pain and suffering than I was. I would think of my friend Jack, who just had surgery on his heart...ribs spread, bones and organs moved around, the works. I'd think of my dad who went through excruciating pain and suffering before he died. I'd think of all these things and within a few minutes, my hand would be numb and all would be well in the world. That would get me through my "mini trauma".

All was set, and here he came. Evil, menacing grin on his face as he walked up to me with that giant syringe (no, really, my doctor has a pretty good sense of humor, and we had talked about the shot being the worst part, so he was really laying it on). He stuck it in my hand, started pressing, and as the skin started stretching, I remembered why I hated that part. I forgot all about my plan to divert my attention at first. As he stuck the needle in the second time, I just relaxed, laid my head back, decided to just "man up" and take it. I was just getting ready to pull up all my mental images of the sufferings of others when my doc said "all kidding aside, I know this really hurts". And my reply?

"Better than a nail driven through your hand."

What? Did I say that? Where did that come from? That wasn't in the script. But it was a message for me, out of my own mouth. God knew that I still feel so unworthy of the suffering that Christ endured for me. God knew that once that thought was in my head, no amount of pain that day would allow me to feel sorry for myself. I laid there for the next two or three minutes, now totally unaware of what was going on with my hand. It wasn't numb yet, but it ceased to matter. I had this image in my head of the literal process of a soldier spiking Christ's hands. I felt so small. I felt how cold the surgery center really was. I felt so petty and weak. But God knows how to deal with that, too.

The next string of thoughts were of God's reason for that. He cares so much for me, that He would allow His own Son to be defiled and abused beyond what humans were designed to bear.

How much must He love me? How much must He love you? Would you be willing to take His place on the cross?


Peace,

Mike