I burned my right index finger on the toaster the other day. Man, did that smart. It might not have been so bad if I hadn’t kept aggravating it. Do you know how many moves in everyday life require an uninjured right index finger? It was on the very tip to boot. The typing tip. And I’m a writer. That means every j, u, n, m, h and y was painful, not to mention my 6’s and 7’s. There are heroic people who deal with real challenges every day, of course—nothing like my wimpy one. The difference is that I’m no hero. I won’t even pretend.
That little finger-wound not only interfered with typing, but it affected buttoning, stirring, tapping, zipping—poking, picking, pulling and pinching. It’s my lipglossing finger, my microwave button finger, and an absolutely essential part of making that tiny violin motion when I need to let someone know they’re whining.
Okay, so I’m usually the one who’s whining, but think about it. I had to make coffee with only 90 percent of my usual fingerage. Imagine trying to make coffee with that kind of deficiency—without having my coffee first. Tricky. I realized I had barely begun to whine when it came time to do my hair. A hairbrush seems to require at least ten fingers. You might be surprised, too, to find that running your fingers through your hair isn’t nearly as satisfying without all ten runners.
And what do you do when you eat something finger-licking good but you only get to lick nine out of the ten fingers? You can probably guess just how incomplete that feels. Even button-pushing was hindered. In this day and age, a gal needs her button-pushing finger to be ever operational. It’s one thing to have your driving hindered, but I didn’t have my radio button-pushing finger. Driving with the radio stuck on a sports show? For me that really is painful.
At least I could still point with that pointy finger. It’s so good that I always have something worthwhile to point out—no fingers required. That something is that everything in life should point to Jesus. If others are not encouraged to look to Jesus by what they observe in my life, there’s only one person to blame. All fingers point back to me.
Jesus stepped onto this planet as the Light of the world, crushing the darkness of sin by his redemptive work on the cross. Then the Light said to us, “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matt. 5:14-16).
No bowls about it, we’ve been commissioned to shine His light, all glory pointing to Him.
His radiant glory. The point of our story.