F is for FINGERS

Years ago, in the days of black and white television, mum loved nothing better than sitting down and watching a pianist who was all the rage at the time. His name was Russ Conway and he played everything with a boyish grin and a certain style that no other pianist could equal. Though he had probably achieved his greatest success by the time I was starting primary school, he still maintained a presence in the charts for quite a few years and was always a popular entertainer on television shows of the time. I still think that I could put my hand on a couple of seven inch singles in our old record collection at home that fully portrayed his talent. And he was always fun to watch, not least because of the missing fingertip on one of his hands, that he had lost while using a bread slicer!

It was a cold, frosty Saturday morning some time in late January. We had just travelled the fifty or so miles from home to Newtownards to play the local grammar school in a rugby game and because of injuries, I was playing only my second game for the 1st XV at scrum half at the tender age of fifteen. I remember the pitch well, beneath that magnificent monument of Scrabo Tower but I remember the lineout even more vividly. The ball sailed over the top, missing all the jumpers and as I ran to grab it, I never noticed an opposition jersey closing quickly on me. Just as my hands made contact with the oval ball so did a rugby boot except that it made more contact with a finger of my left hand. The pain was excruciating, no doubt worsened by the frostbite that had already invaded my digits, but I knew that it was more than just cold that was making me wince. Now here's the funny thing. I can't remember if I played on or came off at that time, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I might have completed the game. Anyway, the journey back and the weekend was pure misery and it was Monday before any hospital could XRay it,by which time all the painkillers and vinegar dressing that mum could sensibly give me had ceased to have any effect. By dinner time, I was in plaster, with my finger bent back into my palm and for the next few weeks, that's where it remained. I still carry the scar of the whole incident, most notably missing a knuckle on my left hand, but the hardest part was when the plaster came off and realising that my finger had to learn how to move all over again.

As I sat in Dundonald hospital with son, who had reached the same age as I had when the unfortunate finger incident occurred, I couldn't help feeling a certain sense of deja vu. This time it wasn't a rugby ball or boot, but a cricket ball that had caused the damage, as he attempted to keep wicket for the school team. What made it worse was the fact that it had happened before to exactly the same finger in the same sport and my immediate concern was that a permanent weakness might have developed. But medical help has progressed sufficiently since my injury and he was able to make a full recovery without any lasting damage. Still, as I watch him grow up and see his interest in the guitar develop just like mine did, I notice that he has much longer fingers than God blessed me with but also that, like his dad, the fingernails on his left hand are very short while those on his right paw are long. Like father, like son!

And that reminds me that while I thank God for both my sons I have so much else to remember when I pray to Him. It's best illustrated by a story a local minister told to our children in assembly a few weeks ago. This is what he said. When we pray our thumbs remind us to thank Him for His goodness to us including His Son. Our pointing finger reminds us to pray for those who pint the way for us, people such as teachers, ministers and our mums and dads. The long finger, taller than the rest, tells us to pray for those who are leaders, both nationally in our government and also in our organisation, while the next finger, regarded to be the weakest one of all, reminds us to pray for those who are in need, the poor and those who are suffering. Finally the little finger at the end teaches us to pray for ourselves last, but at the same time to remember that God still wants to hear about our worries and troubles. And as Paul says, 'Pray without ceasing.' You know it's never to late to count on your fingers to get you through your prayer time.