Operation is a game that has been around a long time. I played it with my brother, though it did not inspire either of us to go into a career in surgery. It may have refined my fine motor skills, as I tried to remove the femur without making the buzzer sound. Doctors do need a gentle hand when poking inside human innards. 

 

My granddaughter unwrapped her own game this Christmas, which is remarkably similar to the one I used in the sixties. She and her cousin played with their uncle, who may or may not have let them have extra turns. 

 

Having broken my wrist this month, it was my good fortune not to need surgery, so no subcutaneous poking for me. Healing is happening even as I am distracted with mastering one armed dish washing. 

 

It all echoes the healing that I pray is happening in other parts of my persona. My actions toward treating the people I live with well, is hobbled by resentment. Just now I swept the deck, which was helpful except that I believed that someone with two good arms should have offered. The snow still slid away, and by the time I was done the blame had as well. 

 

A friend told me that God is a surgeon. He knows that things embedded deep within us, like criticism and self pity cannot be yanked out. That would make the buzzer sound, as it ripped the healthy parts of us away. Rather, it is done with a light touch, and only when we give Him a turn.