Lessons From A Broken Fingernail

"Your finger looks gross," my seven-year-old student remarked, wrinkling up his nose.

"I know," I laughed. My finger did look gross. After turning purple and black since being mashed, the fingernail had split, then fallen off. It was gradually growing back, not neatly or smoothly, but in jagged layers with a huge bulge in the center. Not even a fake nail would be able to adhere to its broken surface.

"You think it'll ever look normal again?" I asked, holding my poor finger out in front of us. My students' disturbed response to my unpleasant wound amused me.

"I don't think it will," he shook his head emphatically, then his face lightened up. "But maybe if you pray about it! Have you prayed about it?"

His words easily coaxed smiles from me, but I confessed, "No. Actually, I haven't prayed about it."

"Do you go to church?" he inquired. At my nod, he continued energetically, "Well then, pray about it! Why do I have to repeat that?!"

Laughing behind my smile, I agreed, "You're right! I need to be praying about my fingernail, don't I?" and he nodded vigorously.

How many times have I wished I could revive the little girl in me who didn't hesitate to tell God about every little concern, from my fear of getting stitches in 1st grade to the anxiety over my clumsiness in gym class. When did sharing everything with Him slip from being something I did naturally to something I have to remind myself to do? Or something a seven-year-old has to remind me to do?

I want to be that girl again---the girl who runs to God not just with overwhelming obstacles, but with mashed fingertips and broken fingernails.