the beauty in a blister

I was working out this morning-dark and cold outside-news blaring (definitely focused on the outside world) when I had this moment…My senses were heightened and I could feel everything inside me, the blood pulsing thru my veins, the sweat forming on my brow, the quickened breaths… It felt good.

Nothing lasts forever though. just when I was feeling like a work out rock star mr blister popped up…It tore into the heel of my left foot and I couldn't help but squint with pain "I'm a soldier I'm a soldier, just get thru it Tish!"

After limping back to my place and taking off the kicks I saw what I had dreaded… my own little badge of pain, proof I'd been doing the darn thing and beating my poor body up. Only disappointed for a moment though... the truth is blisters remind me of my real dad. When I was a wee one, no more than 4, I got a blister from my new church shoes so my dad plopped me down in the bathtub and began pouring alcohol on the blisters. (If you're not screaming out "ouch!" right now then you've led a sheltered pain-free life.) I screamed bloody murder. My dad started laughing at me and said oops, should have used peroxide and that was that…

I have very few memories of my father so I hang on to as many as I can…painful or not. Funny enough, it's caused me to look at blisters a little differently.

I wonder if boo boos and ouchies are God's way of helping us mark a certain point in our life worth remembering…little signs that can come back and remind us of a time we need to remember in that one instance. Maybe not the painful accident itself but the surrounding moments instead. Like for instance, I will forever have these nasty little scars on my right hand fingers because I was a dorky 'special' child that went out riding my bike one night with a cast already on my wrist… Something got caught in my wheel and I went flying out into the street—Van ran right over it. When I look at my painfully ugly scars I don't remember the pain of having a 2 ton minivan on my hand. Rather, I think of the fact that I was this crazy kid that stayed out until dark time riding my bikes with friends, that I looked like a mummy for 4 wks while the wounds healed and how I was given a special title by my elementary school (most accident prone). Scars are great memory markers…

I kinda like the idea…painful optimism has reached new forms.


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