I heard the garage door go up. And then it went down.

I hollered for the three-year-old, who was happily playing in my mother-in-law’s garage with the dog, to stop.

The garage door went up and down again. And then again.

There were about three shades of red starting to seep into my vision as I got up from the table where I was trying to work.

I opened the screen door, took a step, and was brought to my knees with searing pain in my foot.

She looked surprised and on the edge of crying. The red in my vision was tempered now by the throbbing my foot, and I yelled something at her as I looked down at the garden rake.

A few hours and two stitches later, with my foot propped up, I was trying to laugh about things. But I couldn’t get past the feeling that I had been brought to my knees for a reason.

Now, mind you, I HATE the expression “Everything happens for a reason.” It feels like a cop-out and an excuse.

And yet…and yet, I couldn’t shake the knowledge that, just as I was going to holler at my three-year-old for her garage door open-and-close-a-thon, I crippled myself.

It felt significant somehow. Was there a reason? Or was it just further proof that I should look before I leap?

As I was nursing the baby and then soothing the baby and then comforting the snot-ridden three-year-old that night, I felt the background of throbbing in my foot. I couldn’t walk right. I couldn’t leap. I couldn’t respond as I wanted.

And then it hit me, sitting in my chair with the baby: I was pierced in the bottom of my foot with a blunt object. I thought of Jesus, hanging on the cross, nails holding him in place.

Perhaps this is my chance to have a glimpse–a tiny little peek–at the pain Jesus endured for me. Maybe I can use this as an opportunity to slow down and spend some time with God.

Oh, and I’ll be watching my steps a little more closely, too.