My dad was a surgeon.
Well, not really. I mean, he didn't have a sheepskin from Harvard Medical School or anything, but he sure knew how to remove splinters.
He used a simple technique involving matches, a safety pin, and tweezers. First, he sterilized the pin with a lit match, then probed around gently with its point to bring the offending sliver close to the skin's surface (all the while comforting and cajoling his frightened daughters, who weren't convinced the cure wasn't worse than the affliction). Finally, once his target was sighted, the tweezers finished the job.
I've been thinking of Dad today, having obtained a splinter in my right palm. The invasion occurred in the line of duty. I've been battling a cold for the past week, sanitizing everything in sight on a regular basis to a) avoid reinfecting myself once the germs are on their way out, and b) hopefully spare my son the snotty war his mom has been waging. In this valiant effort, I was running a disinfectant wipe along the basement banister and, well, you can figure out the rest.
If the culprit had landed in my left hand, I likely could tackle it myself, but being right-handed makes the required steps more than a bit difficult. So, instead of employing Dad's tried and true regimen, I've been pinching and poking around awkwardly with a fingernail, with little to show but the head of the thing protruding a millimeter or so above the surface, daring me to come after it with the big guns.
In the moments when I haven't been arguing with non-compliant wood shavings, I've been studying John 15 in preparation for my Bible study next week. Well, "studying" may be too strong a word, as I haven't gotten much beyond the first few verses. OK, truth be told, I'm stuck on the first two, in which Jesus compares Himself to a vine and God to a vinedresser, or pruner:
"I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit."
I kept getting stuck on the idea of the branches being connected to the vine. That made no sense when I thought about it, since to me, vines are something like ivy, that wind their way up walls or around fences, whereas branches are found on a tree. Turns out Jesus was referring to a grapevine, which sprouts "branches" that produce those yummy morsels we all enjoy so much. I learned all this from John MacArthur, whose article, "The Vine and the Branches," makes the whole thing crystal clear.
The upshot of the metaphor is that believers, AKA, "branches," need to remain connected to the "true vine," AKA, Jesus, in order to "bear fruit," AKA, do His will. Branches that don't bear fruit show themselves to be useless and can expect to be excised by the Pruner's meticulous hand. They aren't the real deal in the sense that they parade themselves as fruit bearers, but in the end, only take up space and rob nutrients from their productive cohorts.
MacArthur adds that another kind of pruning involves removing useless shoots that steal life-giving sap from the actual branches. This corresponds to God's pruning of the lives and activities of His children, so that only essential pursuits are allowed to thrive. It's an ongoing process, tedious, I'm sure, for the Pruner, and often unpleasant for the branch. In the end, though, it's life-giving, and the branch would do well to yield to the Pruner's tender touch.
My splinter deal seems somehow related to all this vinedressing I'm reading about. This foreign body, miniscule though it may be, is annoying, a tad painful, and keeps getting in my way. It really requires a set of loving hands to dig around and pull the thing out. And what better hands than those of a dedicated dad, who knows just the right tools to perform the minor surgery needed to make everything come out right?
Well, not really. I mean, he didn't have a sheepskin from Harvard Medical School or anything, but he sure knew how to remove splinters.
He used a simple technique involving matches, a safety pin, and tweezers. First, he sterilized the pin with a lit match, then probed around gently with its point to bring the offending sliver close to the skin's surface (all the while comforting and cajoling his frightened daughters, who weren't convinced the cure wasn't worse than the affliction). Finally, once his target was sighted, the tweezers finished the job.
I've been thinking of Dad today, having obtained a splinter in my right palm. The invasion occurred in the line of duty. I've been battling a cold for the past week, sanitizing everything in sight on a regular basis to a) avoid reinfecting myself once the germs are on their way out, and b) hopefully spare my son the snotty war his mom has been waging. In this valiant effort, I was running a disinfectant wipe along the basement banister and, well, you can figure out the rest.
If the culprit had landed in my left hand, I likely could tackle it myself, but being right-handed makes the required steps more than a bit difficult. So, instead of employing Dad's tried and true regimen, I've been pinching and poking around awkwardly with a fingernail, with little to show but the head of the thing protruding a millimeter or so above the surface, daring me to come after it with the big guns.
In the moments when I haven't been arguing with non-compliant wood shavings, I've been studying John 15 in preparation for my Bible study next week. Well, "studying" may be too strong a word, as I haven't gotten much beyond the first few verses. OK, truth be told, I'm stuck on the first two, in which Jesus compares Himself to a vine and God to a vinedresser, or pruner:
"I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit."
I kept getting stuck on the idea of the branches being connected to the vine. That made no sense when I thought about it, since to me, vines are something like ivy, that wind their way up walls or around fences, whereas branches are found on a tree. Turns out Jesus was referring to a grapevine, which sprouts "branches" that produce those yummy morsels we all enjoy so much. I learned all this from John MacArthur, whose article, "The Vine and the Branches," makes the whole thing crystal clear.
The upshot of the metaphor is that believers, AKA, "branches," need to remain connected to the "true vine," AKA, Jesus, in order to "bear fruit," AKA, do His will. Branches that don't bear fruit show themselves to be useless and can expect to be excised by the Pruner's meticulous hand. They aren't the real deal in the sense that they parade themselves as fruit bearers, but in the end, only take up space and rob nutrients from their productive cohorts.
MacArthur adds that another kind of pruning involves removing useless shoots that steal life-giving sap from the actual branches. This corresponds to God's pruning of the lives and activities of His children, so that only essential pursuits are allowed to thrive. It's an ongoing process, tedious, I'm sure, for the Pruner, and often unpleasant for the branch. In the end, though, it's life-giving, and the branch would do well to yield to the Pruner's tender touch.
My splinter deal seems somehow related to all this vinedressing I'm reading about. This foreign body, miniscule though it may be, is annoying, a tad painful, and keeps getting in my way. It really requires a set of loving hands to dig around and pull the thing out. And what better hands than those of a dedicated dad, who knows just the right tools to perform the minor surgery needed to make everything come out right?
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