It was one of those
October afternoons in Madurai, South India in 1970’s when the sun was burning
bright and wind was nowhere to be seen to blow on the Neem branches to make
them sway and wave. Meanwhile, inside the building which was marked “Chemistry
Lab,” on the outside door, fifteen women in their late teens with lab coats
worn over colorful cotton saris were busy doing experiments at the bench
stations or scurrying up and down the room with test tube or a beaker in hand
to get the necessary reagent for their experiments. I was one among those final
year chemistry major students in the room on that day.
Because our professor
Miss.Rhine was away that afternoon, we were at ease to smile and exchange some
funnies whenever possible. Always watching the clock on the wall and the
supervising TAs walking around the room, we tried to some fun amidst tiring
work and pungent smell of chemical fumes coming out of our experiments. Being
on our feet and doing experiments all day long had been hard enough, but
managing the time to finish the task in hand was a challenge to most of us in
the room. Especially, to someone like me, who was slow and a perfectionist. Time seemed to be running fast , and It was then I realized I was running short of
a reagent.
Quickly grabbing a
small measuring jar off the rack, I hurried to the shelf on which stood strong
acids and corrosive liquids. Scanning through the printed labels on the brown
bottles across the shelf, I quickly spotted Phenol, the reagent I needed for my
experiment. The bottle being full, felt
heavy when I took it off the shelf. In
my haste, I overlooked the nature of the liquid and tried to pour it into the
narrow mouthed - cylinder from a rather heavy bottle. Result- the corrosive
liquid quickly overflowed the cylinder and ran down my left arm within seconds.
At first, it felt like cold smoothy
running down my arm; but, within seconds its coolness turned into vengeance and
started to scorch my hand with intense pain. I felt as if my whole arm was set
on fire and I was about to faint.
Quickly, the cry of those
nearby alerted our lecturer and the TA to rush to my side and apply first aid.
After my injured arm lavishly powdered down with baking soda like substance, I
was rushed to a nearby hospital in a taxi with our college nurse. At the
hospital, the wait was long and my pain became intense. Because my case was not
life-threatening, the staff at the hospital let me wait till they attended to
more serious ones. After sitting an hour or so on the hard wooden bench in the
emergency room, I was finally called in to be seen by the doctor. The doctor quickly
me a tetanus shot in the other arm and applied my left forearm from elbow to
the wrist with a dark purple ointment. Painted in purple, my arm would have
looked perfect to wave on a parade, but the scorching pain made me to whimper
and groan instead.
Back in my room an
hour later, I blurted out in a loud cry. Far away from home, I longed for my mother’s
touch and her gentle strokes on my back at such a time. I also longed for the
company of my brothers and sisters, who would have tried to make me laugh and forget
my pain by their humor and comical gesture at a time like this. On any other
afternoon, especially, after standing
long hours in the laboratory, the gentle breeze coming through my wide open
windows on the upper floor would have lulled me to sleep. But, not that
afternoon. Utterly feeling alone and homesick, I cried out to the Lord in
self-pity.
“ Lord, I’m in terrible
pain. My whole arm is burning as if it’s set on fire. Why don’t you do
something Lord? Please make the pain go away soon.” I tried to remind Him of His promises and expected
Him to make my pain go away at once. No
miracle took place. The pain remained intense and unbearable.
Then something strange
happened. Suddenly my attention turned to the suffering of Jesus Himself on the
cross. I began to see the pain He underwent on the cross, with huge iron nails
piercing through his palms and feet, and a crown of thorns poking His head all
around. What an agony, Jesus must have gone through at that time. In
comparison, the pain in my arm was like a pin prick. If the Lord could endure
such pain patiently for my sake, what am I wailing about? Why am I making a big
fuss over a little pain in the arm. How much more Jesus should have complained of
the terrible pain He underwent for you and me? To my surprise, the more I
thought about it, the lesser I became aware of the pain in my arm. In fact, the moment I took my eyes off myself
and focused on Jesus, I felt my pain sliding away. Within minutes, the
scorching pain left me without a trace.
Truly I couldn’t even believe
it at first. But it did happen. The pain that was tormenting me all this time
simply vanished. When I shared this experience with someone years later, she
thought it might the injection the doctor gave me. I was told the shot the
doctor gave me was a tetanus shot and not something for pain. Even if the doctor had given me a pain killer
shot, I doubt whether it would have brought me instant healing like this. We
could call it a coincidence, medical intervention or a miracle. I would call it
a miracle, for I had never experienced such an instant healing like that ever
before or after.
Yes, God has the power to heal us when we cry
to Him in our need. But, His methods differ from time to time. Sometimes He
does it miraculously; sometimes through medication and other times through
changing our focus, hearts and circumstances.
God has His unique way of answering our prayers.
I also saw this
incident as a blessing in disguise. Many in my resident hall, including my
juniors, to whom I haven’t even uttered a “hello!” before, came to my aid when
I needed to use my injured hand. Because I needed to keep that arm from getting
wet to prevent any inflammation, I could only use my right arm. In our college
at that time, we didn’t have the luxury of dishwasher or taps in our dining
room or kitchen. We had to wash our own plates and tumblers by pumping water from
the ground by hand.
So, when the girls in
my hall found out about my injury, they offered their hands to help me wash my
plate, carry my books, comb my hair, dress up in my sari, and making me
comfortable in every way. Not only God enabled my pain to go away, He also opened
my eyes to see the love and care of my fellow colleagues-Christians as well as
Hindus.
This incident taught
me a great lesson which I’ll never forget. When our eyes are on Jesus, our
mindset seems to change. When our focus is on others’ needs than on our very own,
our problem seems to matter less. What a better way to overcome pain and strife?***
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