Holy #*(&!

Father Stewart, the Pastor at St. Brendan's, often reminds us that when death looms near, people are often not in the mindset to make their peace with God. As he says, as the motorcycle is crashing into the pole, the driver rarely has the time to think of God. Instead, they're probably thinking, "Oh ....!"

It's his way of reminding us that every day is our time to make our peace with God. Cuz you never know.

Yesterday I had an "Oh ....!" moment. Granted, it came nowhere near to being a near-death experience. However, I found that in my time of pain and distress I did not think of God or ask for His help. Instead I simply felt pain and cursed out loud and ran and laughed and cried.

Just yesterday afternoon, I had pulled out my Magnificat, a prayer guide, and read in Psalm 18: In my distress I called upon the Lord and cried out to my God; From his temple he heard my voice, and my cry to him reached his ears.

About two hours later I was getting into my friend Bob's car, on our way up to an evening of dinner and games with friends. Bob sat in the driver's seat, my wife Wendy scooted into the back seat behind him. As I dropped my backback in the space next to Wendy, I used the open door frame of the front passenger side as support as I made my way in. Unfortunately for my hand, I didn't realize that Ciara, Bob's girlfriend, had already taken her seat in the front and was preparing to close her door. And then she did.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I stood straight up and and screamed.

From inside the car I heard yells of, "What? What's going on?"

"Holy #*(&!" I continued. Seeing as the pain seemed to intensify with every millisecond and my hand was still stuck, I tried, in vain, to use my right hand to pull open the door. Door stuck hard, my brain processed.

Inside the car, Wendy finally realized what was wrong when she saw my four fingers wiggling inside the car and the front passenger door completely closed. She somehow managed to tell Ciara to open her door and my beautiful, fragile hand was released. The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than five seconds but in those seconds I experienced pain and desperation. When my hand was released, there was more pain.

I doubled over, my eyes tearing, as Wendy, Bob, and Ciara tried to assess how bad it was and what they had to do for me. I briefly looked at my hand and saw pink and holes. The pain felt worse and I took off running down the street, right hand cradling the left. I don't know if it was the tears in my eyes or the pain, but as I ran I realized the world was a blur. I couldn't see. Had it not been for that I might've run from Harlem to Times Square and back. Wendy called for me to stop and I did, still bouncing, crying, and now laughing from the pain. Ciara yelled at Bob to be a man and help me with my broken hand. He asked to see my hand but I could only hold still for a second, I still felt the need to keep my body moving.

After another minute or two of bouncing, I was calm enough to stop and really assess the hand trauma. Luckily what I saw as pink was just my skin reacting to being stuck in a door. The holes I saw were deep dents from where my hand had contorted to the door and frame edges. I tried moving my hand and managed a slight wiggle of fingers. When Ciara told Bob to get me to a hospital, I told them I thought I'd be OK, nothing broken. Though there was still lots of crying and laughing.

Ciara had the wisdom to tell me to take my wedding ring off so that my finger wouldn't swell around it. The fingers swelled slightly but thankfully nothing monstrous.

We made our way to our friend Bill's apartment who was waiting for us with two ice packs and Advil. I was in pain last night, but still enjoyed a great night of vegan dinner and Scattergories with friends. This morning the hand and fingers are lightly pink, still slightly swollen and the top of my hand is tender to the touch. Running water feels like millions of needles. But, I can move my hand.

I thank God now that I know how lucky I was. It's the smallest bit of a miracle that my hands aren't purple, broken, or bloody. It was a gift that I was still able to enjoy the great company of friends last night. In the laughter of friendship there is no pain.

I can see, as Father Stewart said, that when you're suffering your first thoughts aren't always about God. But, as Psalm 92 reminded me this morning: It is good to give thanks to the Lord.

I can't turn back time, and to be honest, I wouldn't want to, but looking forward there's a lot to be grateful for.