Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Red (10/01/09)
- TITLE: Mending Wounds
By Jessica Ryder
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I turned on the water and started to wash the potatoes, I scrubbed excessively at a spot that wouldn’t fade away. It stayed there, staring back at me like the bruise I felt on my heart. I could feel my fingers getting sore as I scrubbed harder, forcing it to disappear. Finally, I gave up and dropped the potato in the sink and searched for a knife.
As I walked to the drawer, I saw his note laying on the counter, folded neatly by the vase of flowers he’d picked. Quickly I grabbed it, crumbled in it my hand, and tossed it toward the direction of the trashcan. I didn’t need the note to know what it said. The words were burned into my memory forever. I could say each one by heart.
“I want to start by saying I love you and I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. I don’t deserve you but I promise it will never, ever happen again if you take me back. I’m human and I made a mistake. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I grabbed the sharpest knife I could find and walked back to the sink, I pick up the potato with the ugly bruise and began to cut it out. It was deeper than I expected as I scooped out the chunk and pushed it down the garage disposal. I looked at the potato and saw the huge hole left in the side, a once perfectly round vegetable was now missing half of itself thanks to one stubborn bruise.
I started to slice the potatoes into my pot of water over the stove and thought about the note again. “Please, find in it your heart to forgive me.” How was I supposed to forgive the man I promised my life to, committed myself to forever, when he cheated on his end of the bargain? I never took him for someone unfaithful, but he had admitted everything to me. He didn’t even try to deny it. She was a mistake, but was our marriage?
I was distracted by my thoughts when I sliced too far and cut deep into my hand. Blood oozed out and dripped into the pot before I realized what happened, turning the water a diluted red. I ran over to the sink, holding my hand tightly as the red blood spilled through my fingers. I wrapped a washcloth securely around the wound and tried to catch my breath, blood made me woozy. A cut to the hand always seemed to hurt the worse than it really was.
I focused on the wooden cross that hung above my kitchen table to calm my nerves and distract myself from my bloody hand. I looked at the details etched into the wood and saw the nails in the corners with red painted down the sides to resemble Jesus’ wounds. I looked down at my own hand and thought about what the cross resembled -- forgiveness.
Jesus died on the cross so God would forgive our sins, big and small. All we had to do was ask. God could forgive my husband, but could I? I looked at the white washcloth and saw the red seeping through; the red that symbolize the blood Christ shed for us on the cross just like the one hanging on my wall.
I sighed a heavy breath and felt tears brim my eyes. I knew then that it wouldn’t be easy, because forgiveness was not an easy thing for me; but if God could forgive him then some how, some way, so could I.
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