“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”
1 Thessalonians 5:18
Life has a funny way of reminding you that you’re not as young as you used to be.
As many of you know, I’m currently living in my van with my German Shepherd, Loki, while trying to save money for housing and seminary. During the day, I’m DoorDashing, applying for jobs, working on Road to Seminary, and trying to take one step at a time toward the future God has placed in front of me.
This week started with what should have been a simple brake job.
My mother, who has been an incredible blessing throughout this season of life, purchased a new set of front brakes for my van. My father volunteered to help me install them. Having parents willing to help a grown man who is trying to get back on his feet is something I don’t take for granted.
Unfortunately, the brake job turned into one of those jobs that mechanics love to complain about.
The rotors didn’t want to come off.
Not politely.
Not reasonably.
The kind of “did they weld these things on at the factory?” stubborn.
The solution involved a mini sledge hammer and more force than I was particularly excited about applying.
At some point during the battle, my right index finger found itself trapped between the hammer handle and a wheel stud.
What happened next can best be described as a spontaneous performance art piece involving a long string of expletives, strange noises, creative adjectives, and what I can only assume looked like some kind of interpretive dance.
I call it “The Ouch Dance.”
Critics were not present, but I assume the reviews would have been excellent.
The pain was immediate and intense.
After a few minutes, some ice, and a lot of muttering, I finished the brake job anyway. Looking back, that was probably stubbornness more than wisdom.
The finger continued to hurt throughout the day. That evening, it became increasingly swollen and increasingly painful. By the middle of the night I was unable to sleep. Around 3 AM I ended up creating a makeshift splint because something in my brain kept telling me that keeping the finger from moving was helping.
What surprised me most wasn’t the pain.
It was my attitude.
Years ago, I might have asked God why He allowed it to happen.
Instead, lying there in the middle of the night, I found myself thanking Him that it wasn’t worse.
The hammer missed the rest of my hand.
It wasn’t my eye.
It wasn’t a major injury.
It wasn’t a hospital stay.
It wasn’t life changing.
It hurt. A lot. But it could have been far worse.
The next morning I went to urgent care.
The verdict?
Broken finger.
Specifically, a nondisplaced fracture of the distal phalanx of my right index finger.
As it turns out, my finger wasn’t being dramatic.
It was actually broken.
Even then, I found more reasons to be grateful.
I’m grateful for medical coverage that allowed me to walk into urgent care and get treatment.
I’m grateful for the doctor who took the time to examine it.
I’m grateful for the splint protecting it while it heals.
I’m grateful for parents who helped me before the injury and cared about me afterward.
I’m grateful for a van that now has new brakes.
I’m grateful for Loki, who remains convinced that all problems can be solved with food and naps.
Most of all, I’m grateful for the reminder that God’s goodness is not measured by whether life is easy.
Sometimes gratitude isn’t thanking God for what happened.
Sometimes gratitude is thanking Him for what didn’t happen.
The finger is broken.
My situation hasn’t magically changed.
I’m still living in a van.
I’m still saving for housing.
I’m still pursuing seminary.
I’m still trying to figure out what comes next.
But I’m also still blessed.
And sometimes that’s enough.
The finger will heal.
The journey continues.
And hopefully, the next lesson God teaches me won’t involve a hammer.
