This our Valley: The safety belt that wasn’t!

 

"My boundaries enclose a pleasant land; indeed, I have a goodly heritage” Psalm 16:6

I did something the other day I haven’t done in decades. I put something together over the course of several hours … and I didn’t bleed!

That may not sound all that amazing to most of you, but I confess that while I possess a fair amount of skill and coordination – enough to do many of the little things that need doing around the house – when it comes to working with sheet metal and other sharp objects, I make Freddy Krueger look like a rank amateur and a pacifist rolled into one. I’ve even been known to suffer paper cuts while sending email! Anyway …

I received a new barbecue grill for Father’s Day. The old one had served its purpose faithfully for almost twenty years, but earth, wind, fire, rain, and ice had taken their toll. So off she went, and in came the box from an online retailer that shall remain nameless (I don’t know how the owner of the website had time to ship it as he was so busy planning his wedding in Venice, but I digress).

The new charcoal grill was well-packed in its carton. Usually opening a box is where I begin my blood-letting, but I was able to open the box, remove its contents, and toss all the packing material off to the garage without opening any wounds. So far so good!

I then began to assemble the new grill, despite horrible instructions written in either sanskrit or cuneiform (it was hard to tell as the print and illustrations were possibly drafted by an ink-squirting octopus). Nevertheless, due to my superior intellect and aforementioned skills and coordination, the barbecue grill went together with nary a scratch, bruise, or loss of limb. 

I DO believe in miracles!

What’s funny (as in strange or weird) is that a few days later as I was getting ready for bed, I took off my shirt and noticed a two to three inch slash across my stomach. Now, my shirts are cloth (as opposed to steel wool or chain-mail), and I wash them in soft water and my laundry detergent is infused with a fabric softener; my fingernails are trimmed neatly, and I’m really a gentle spirit when preparing for the time of lullabies in the land of snores, so how on earth did I injure myself?

I could not have cut my tummy while assembling the barbecue, for I worked fully clothed, and as slow as I can sometimes be in my advancing dotage, my wounds are never days late in developing or showing themselves. 

So, it’s a mystery, and that’s OK. I didn’t bleed out, and it honestly was barely more than a finger-length scratch. It was just bizarre that it had happened, and I had no recollection of when or how it might have happened. 

Life is like that. Things happen to us and we don’t always know how or why. Sometimes there simply is no reason why. In hindsight, it could very well have been done by the seatbelt on my truck, for the strap that goes across the stomach is worn and does have a bit of a toothy edge to it that can (and does) rub me the wrong way occasionally.

Well, I do believe that’s another mystery solved, which creates a new mystery, of course. 

How might I prevent myself from being sliced and diced in the future? I do so little driving anymore, it really isn’t necessary or cost-effective to replace the seatbelt. Perhaps I could purchase a knee-length chain-mail hauberk for use when driving. I’ll wait and see if Jeff B. has any in stock, but only after he gets back from his honeymoon. 

After all, I wouldn’t want to order a hauberk just to have him go berserk. I’m afraid that could fold, spindle, or mutilate our relationship beyond repair. 

Speaking of spindles and other sharp objects, it’s time to restock the band aids. I just got an ash vacuum cleaner for the barbecue and need to open the box now here in this, our valley.

Keith Axberg writes on matters concerning life and faith. Author of: Who the Blazes is Jesus? Good News for a Vulgar World (available through Amazon in Print and e-book)