It all started two years ago. I don’t recall anything about the day except that I opened the refrigerator. Everything else blacked out after that. OK, just kind of. But it hurt: a can fell out of the fridge at just the right angle and semi-broke my toe. For the past two years, I’ve babied that thing to no avail. I’m afraid I have to face the cold, hard fact: it will never be the same again.

It doesn’t matter what I do. There’s a magnet on it now that commands, “Hey kids, step on your mom’s toe. Not the left foot. Just the right. And just that toe. Don’t hit any others while you’re at it.” Shopping carts and other inanimate objects also now obey the call.

So, while other people count sheep at night, I count throbs in my toe. But the rhythm just keeps me awake.

If you ever read I Corinthians 12 and sighed about your “lowly” position in the Body of Christ—then all I have to say is… you’ve never had a hurt toe.

On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable ~I Cor. 12:12