When One Finger Hurts

At age twelve I learned how to make peanut brittle. I awed when white sugar crystals melted into a translucent, brown, extremely hot liquid. At that point, the other ingredients were quickly stirred in then poured onto a baking sheet to cool and harden.

Peanut brittle—my more than 100-year-old Great Grandpa’s favorite candy! I’d make him some for Christmas! Problem? Mom said no—there wasn’t enough time before leaving for our church’s Christmas service where I had a violin solo. I was quite certain she was wrong. Besides, wouldn’t she have a change of heart since this was for HER grandfather?

I rush about, preparing. All went well till I accidentally poured some of the molten liquid onto my left index fingertip. Horrific pain! I bolted to the sink and threw on the cold water, melting away the candy coating over my already blistered finger. Tears poured as I squeezed ointment onto my wound and bandaged it. How could I play my solo now? I told Mom what happened, but she insisted I still perform. After all, hadn’t she told me to wait?

That evening I wept as I contorted my aching hand to substitute for notes my burned finger failed to play. Some folks in the congregation told me how moved they were by my emotional playing. (I’m sure my playing could cause weeping anyway.) I’d only injured one finger, but my whole hand hurt.

Later in life I heard someone say, “When one finger hurts, so does the whole hand.” My mind flashed back to that Christmas and the painful solo. My husband and I learned this on a much larger scale when our daughter ran away from home and didn't return. Our whole family hurt.

When you love someone in pain, you hurt too. The “whole hand” does. That’s the way it is. Jesus Christ, our Balm, brought us through those prodigal years and continues to give us hope.

Do you have a family member going through tough stuff? A friend? Where do you turn for hope?