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It is some random day of which I can't remember the likes of from last week.

That's when it happened. But I didn't notice it until the wee beginnings of this week. You see, I'd stubbed my toe and of course I knew of it. But in stubbing my toe I apparently inadvertently succeeded in detaching half my toenail from its proper habitat. My skin. And as I don't have insurance to see a doctor (I guess I'd need to see a Podiatrist), I decided to let nature take its course and optimism take my heart.

It would reattach itself.

The hardness of my toenail would be miraculously drawn by the yearning of my skin for its past coexistence as two being one. The hardness of my toenail would equally and endearingly beckon for my skin to meet it halfway as well. They would one-day link skin to toenail again. Both could feel the surety of it in the very abyss of their cells. The two would work together simultaneously, lessening each other’s own burden of the feat AND proving the intense depth of the liaison by the latter. Yes, everything would be just fine. Two would become one again.

(Especially since I prayed about it)

:)

And sure enough, I awoke the next day to find my toenail and the skin on my toe had rekindled their liaison. Wow. Amazing. I got down on my knees and thanked God for sparing me a bulky doctor’s bill. If it had not healed, I’d have eventually given in to going to see a doc, insurance or no insurance. And so, I allowed a great big bubbly feeling of genuine happiness to overtake me, casually tossing aside the previous coping mechanism of forced optimism upon which I'd relied so heavily on my yesterday. I tweedle-dee-dummed my way on to work, happy as a one would be if he/she woke to find their once blind eyes could see, and sporting a pair of old worn out flip flops.

But behold, the problem with miracles is that we all too often become so filled with the aura of happiness that we forget from whence we came. We forget that miracles, although supernatural, are not beyond fragmentation. And so, as the work day wore on I carelessly sported my little flip flopped laiden miracle. Happily. I carelessly bumped my toes turning corners. I carlessly kept balance when walking up and down stairs. I carelessly allowed the kids to step on my feet. And I carelessly brought up a cloud of dust from a congregation of gravel and dirt onto my flip flops while at the local park. Happily. Needless to say, by my work day's end my little miracle had become undone. And with the same sort of sadness that comes when one knows he/she fluked the big game when the shot was clearly wide open, I whipped out my laptop and started researching ways to patch up the effects of a shot gone bad. After an hour and a half of research I finally found out I could just go ahead and pull my dangling toenail off. It would grow back within a few months. And so I gently ended the liason with the slight tug of my fingers and a small whimper of complaint from the skin on my toe in the form of a dot of blood.

That night, as I lay in bed awaiting the unconsciousness of sleep to visit me, I wondered just how many times in my life I've ever undone the acts of God's graciousness to me and pondered the ignorance of delayed satisfaction I force upon myself by my own inadequacies. And you know, I have to say there's probably way more times than I could ever recall. I thank God for his mercy. I thank God for even Thinking to bless little old me.