On Sunday evening the rest of the family all needed to be at church early for one reason or another – I didn’t so stayed back.
We’d had friends around for Sunday lunch and had spent all afternoon talking and enjoying the fine English spring weather. This meant that we hadn’t done the washing up, so that was my job while everyone else was out.
While trying to stop it bleeding I wondered to myself whether I should just patch it up, or whether a trip to A&E was in order. Knowing that A&E gets busy on a Sunday evening later on I decided that I’d go early, rather than leave it and wait even longer. I’d managed to stop the bleeding enough to enable me to drive, so off I went.
Having checked in I sat in the reception waiting for my turn to see the triage nurse.
As I looked around I wondered about each of my fellow casualties story.
For some it was obvious what they had done, but how did they get that gash on their head.
For other’s it was obvious that alcohol had played a significant part in the story.
For the couple in the corner she’d clearly had something to do with his cut hand, and he wasn’t happy about it.
There was another couple and he was getting more and more frustrated with her lack of understanding of how Sudoku works.
There was the lady who was struggling with stomach pains for more than three days.
I whole mix of society.
There were those who you could tell were well paid and then there was the bearded man who looked like he was carrying all of his earthly belongings.
I couldn’t imagine any of them went to church, or that Jesus was even a consideration in their life – but I heard a sentence in my head over and over again:
“I love these people”
I had my thumb x-rayed and dressed and then drove home wondering…