He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all
your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your
neighbor as yourself.’”—Luke 10:27
It’s been 10 days and they’re still there. Battle scars, I call them. One on each wrist. I had received a call for help from a friend,
but before I set out to assist, I checked the oil in my Jeep. The “Add” warning
was clearly visible on the dipstick, so I went to the shed to retrieve a quart
(or two!) of oil. I reached into the box and searing pain shot into my right
wrist. I cried aloud, as several angry
wasps swarmed around me, one becoming entangled in my hair. I swatted it away, and a second dose of pain
shot through my left wrist. Again I
cried aloud and left the shed as quickly as I could before the fury escalated.
I made my way to the house without sustaining another blow
and whipped up a remedy of baking soda and water. I applied the paste to both wrists, and then
poured both quarts of oil in the Jeep—enough to register in the “Safe” zone on
the dipstick—and was on my way.