Most people in the room gasped. Some even laughed. As for me, I felt sorry for the guy.

I was around ten years old as I sit in the crowded doctor’s office with my mom. In walks this young man with a red gash on the end of his nose. Of course, those sitting around him asked what happened. With a red face, he told about jerking back on his fishing rod, which caused the now bait-less hook to hurtle toward him. Before he realized what was happening, it had dug into the end of his nose. Since the hook was a little rusty and had dried worm guts on it, he needed to get a Tetanus shot.

At first, I felt sorry for him because of the shot. Seriously, who wants one of those? But then I could relate because of all the strange stuff that seemed to happen to me. It didn’t get better as I grew older. At all.

One such story happened when Sara was a small toddler. I had her lying on my shoulder as she took a nap. It was a warm spring day, so I had the windows open to let in fresh air. It became rather chilly and I decided to close one. With Sara still asleep on my shoulder, I walked over to the window and proceeded to try to lower it with my right hand. I had her secured in my left arm.

I yanked down, but the window pane didn’t even budge. I yanked and yanked until it finally gave and slammed shut with my hand still on the bottom. Here’s the bad part of that scenario. I had placed Tim’s archery trophy on that window sill.

He was so proud of that little trophy for second place. On top, it had a golden figure of a man pulling back the bow string. That is until my hand slammed into the tip of the bow. It not only cracked the bow off, but the man’s head as well. As for me, I had a deep gash in the side of my hand.

My first thought after “Ouch!” was that yet again, I had managed to do something strange and crazy. Who else but me could’ve had that happen to them? Think about it. How many other people have had a piece of a decapitated trophy figure jabbed into their hand while holding their child. I dare say not many.

I laid Sara down so I could apply first aid to myself. When Tim came home from work, he couldn’t help but notice my bandaged hand. Naturally, he asked, “How’d that happen?”

Heat rose in my face as I told my story to him. I even showed him what was left of his trophy. He shook his head and told me to go to the doctor.

At my appointment the next day, I related what happened to my doctor. Let’s just say, I didn’t relish in retelling that story. Like Tim, he just shook his head. Then he proceeded to give me a Tetanus shot. Good side of this, I didn’t need stitches.

It got better. Tim’s insurance didn’t want to pay for the doctor appointment until I wrote an explanation to them. They probably wanted to verify the doctor’s farfetched statement. Honestly, I didn’t blame them.

“The foolishness of man perverteth his way: and his heart fretteth against the Lord.” Proverbs 19:3 (KJV)

I think at times we become angry at God without considering how our actions brought about the problem. When I hurt my hand, I knew it was nobody’s fault but my own. I should’ve moved the trophy the moment the window wouldn’t budge. Instead, I was stubborn and did something foolish. Yet, the Lord kept my injury from being a lot worse than it could have been. So, instead of being angry, be grateful for how He kept the problem from being worse.

You know, I often envision Jesus shaking is head at me and saying, “I am going to have to bless her clumsy heart.”

Brooke Cox is an author, speaker, and storyteller. She was a 2016 Selah Awards Finalist for Debut Novel. Her children’s book: “Dinosaur Eggs,” is now available. It is based on Ephesians 6: The Armor of God. Her novel “Until the Moon Rises: A Conniving Cousin Mystery” is also available. Also, she has two books out in her storytelling series: “Saucy Southern Stories.” The Amazon links for her books may be found on her website: brookecoxstories.com. Please feel free to contact her. She would love to hear from you.