I have always loved that verse in the Old Testament, such a picture of caring, and then the, shazam, that made me think later, ah the nail prints, of course, I am engraved in the palm of God’s hand. Not that this is intended to be a Bible Study on Pat’s favorite verses, but as a way of “rolling the tape back” storytelling, I have to say, those were the exact words that came to mind as I watched a scar form on both my palms.
No, we are not talking “stigmata” here, but the result of a
clumsy fall I took that day I was hiking along the craggy coast of Acadia, in
the rain… while holding things.
And the “holding things” is key here. I don’t know what it is about me, but I am definitely
deficient in the dexterity column, at least where my hands are concerned. I can leap over boulders, cross
streams, swing on Tarzan swings and do other feats of a physical nature but ask
me to carry more than two things, and walk at the same time, and you have my
own personal, “Iron Man” challenge.
And so, that blog that I wrote about visiting Acadia, (“I
must go down to the Sea Again”), left out a key event. I had just made it to the farthest
point of the Cliffside hike and was heading back, when my phone rang. Now, to paint the scene for you again:
it had been misting/raining the entire time, I was carrying an umbrella, my
binoculars, and a backpack and my phone was safely in my pocket. I had called people along the way, as
an extrovert is want to do, for it was so stunningly beautiful and I HAD to
tell people about it, but, I was careful to do so when I was standing still,
feet firmly planted on the ground, back to the wind.
But now, I was just heading down a steep, craggy, bit of
trail when the phone rang. And
again, what does an extrovert do? She answers it. And no sooner had I said hello than my foot caught one of
those craggy rocks and I, not just stumbled, but pitched through the air like
some superhero without a cape, and landed with both hands splayed out in front
of me, on more jagged rocks. That
my wrists didn’t snap is a minor miracle.
But my phone, umbrella and binoculars all went flying off in different
directions, thankfully, none of them over the cliffs and into the sea. As my friend on the other end of
the line was wondering if she needed to call 911, I assessed the situation,
both hands were bleeding down my arms and not a pretty sight. The kind of sight actually that makes
you put your head between your knees and breathe deeply. Which is what I did.
Now, none of the tourists had ventured out of their cars at
any spot that wasn’t mentioned on the map, so no one was around. Which was a good thing in a way for I
must have looked ridiculous, flying through the air like that, but it also
meant my two little Kleenexes would be all I had to stop the bleeding. But I survived, and after a few
miles came to a rest stop with a bathroom so I could pick out the parts of the
“rockbound coast of Maine” that were imbedded in my hand. I had some pretty crusty scabs to
impress my grandchildren with for weeks and scars that, in the right light,
looked rather like the state of Maine itself.
And so, “See, I
have engraved you in the palm of my hands” comes to mind in the sweetest way:
three grandchildren in Maine, my daughter’s family, engraved in my hand and my
heart. Lovely really, although,
with the miracle of skin, I see it is mostly faded now, but still, it was a
lovely thought, and in the end, as most mishaps are, a funny story.
So, no nature here, just the nature of yours truly who
should have followed a career in prat falling.
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