Thursday, June 23, 2011
I have a scar on my right pinky finger that I got at Heritage Halls, my college dorm at BYU, after my roommate and I argued about cleaning the bathroom. As I was cleaning the sink, I cut my finger on the faucet.
When I was 7, I was waiting for my dad to come home and take me swimming. I was so excited to see him that I pushed the door handle with my right hand and the glass with my left, only the door was locked.
I don’t remember the shattering glass, just lots of blood, being scared, shaking, my dad wrapping my hand in a towel and the mad dash to the hospital—running red-lights—sitting snug and safe between my dad and uncle. Nothing is left from that moment, but the memory and three scars on my left palm.
I have age spots too. I got them when I was 21 after I delivered my first baby. The scars, the age-spots, the protruding veins, all say that I lived, right? My hands say that I did more than eat and take up space while on this planet. So hurray for me and my pockmarked hands!
One of my favorite quotes is by Majorie Pay Hinckley. It’s a little dated because if she was alive, she’d be 100 in November. But you get the idea.
"I don't want to drive up to the pearly gates in a shiny sports car, wearing beautifully, tailored clothes, my hair expertly coiffed, and with long, perfectly manicured fingernails.
I want to drive up in a station wagon that has mud on the wheels from taking kids to scout camp.
I want to be there with a smudge of peanut butter on my shirt from making sandwiches for a sick neighbors children.
I want to be there with a little dirt under my fingernails from helping to weed someone's garden.
I want to be there with children's sticky kisses on my cheeks and the tears of a friend on my shoulder.
I want the Lord to know I was really here and that I really lived."
— Marjorie Pay Hinckley
And yes I liked the book, Jacob Have I Loved, I gave it two blemished thumbs up.