Healed

He walked through the doorway, out of the waiting room, and into one of our patient rooms. He was wearing worn out leather boots, a once white undershirt, now stained yellow. And a pair of overalls with one strap still hooked.

The man, aged now to his middle fifties, used his left hand to unwrap the bandages on his right. I was sitting there in the room with him, pulling out the stitches that had for two weeks held together what was left of his index and pinky finger. and I looked up to find a huge smile on his face. "They're healin' up!" he exclaimed. "Sure are!" I said monotonously.

I showed little excitement in my voice because I had assumed his hand would be considerably better. It was then, in that moment that I realized.....This man is becoming well again.

this man, once broken, now restored, was seeing his critical wounds heal right before his eyes.

right before both our eyes.

my heart fell to my feet. I re-dressed his wounds. He shook my hand and walked out the doorway.

"I helped that man get well" was the one thought that consumed my mind like a mid-July wildfire.

And in it's simplicity, that realization, that thought....saved my life.

healed,

Kyle