How a Pencil gave me Hope

          When I was in third grade, I was not a well-behaved student. You might have called me the class clown. I would have done anything for a laugh or attention for the other students. I would make funny noises to comical faces when the teacher turned her back. Do not get me started on what I did during lunch or recess.
          Karma decided to pay this third grader a painful visit. When the teacher, Ms. Sestrum, was away talking to another teacher during our group time, I took it upon myself to parade over to her chair within the circle and do a little jump/sit on her chair.
          Little did I know that another student, at this very moment, took his pencil and placed it on the chair, pointy side up, right where I sat down.
          The pain was immense. I grabbed my behind, started jumping up and down, and cried. The other students thought this was part of the act, so they laughed at my funny dance. I spotted Ms. Sestrum by the door and ran to her, crying.
          When I arrived and explained what had happened, she sternly told me to sit down and wait for her to come over. I told her no and asked to see the nurse. She either did not want me there crying or believed me because she allowed me to go to the nurse's office. The nurse called my mom, who took me to the doctor's office.
          Over the next three months, I saw the doctor several times due to sharp pains when I sat down. The doctor would assure my parents there was nothing wrong with me each time. The doctor removed an embedded piece of lead in the flesh. After the fourth visit, they had an X-ray, and the results were negative. The doctor stated that there was no reason for my pain.
          At this time, my mom knew I was beside myself with misery. I did not think I would ever get better. After Mass one weekend, she told me a story taken from the New King James Version Bible, Matthew 8-8. She paraphrased the verse to me so I could understand it, and it is how I memorized it, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the Word, and I shall be Healed."
          She stated that if I had Hope and believed, God would heal me, and all the pain would go away and never come back.
          So, I began to have Hope that God heard my prayers and understood my pain. Instead of praying formally, I talked to Him like you were talking to a close friend. I still pray that way today.
          Two weeks after I began conversing with God and having the Hope my mother spoke of, the doctors performed a biopsy and found pieces of wood. Surgery soon followed.
          The Operating room grew quiet when they pulled out a 5" pencil with bits and pieces of lead and wood fragments.
          I still say that prayer after all these years. It brings peace and calm when I need Hope during a family or Spiritual crisis.


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