The Bark That Bites

Merv is one of my favorite people in the world, or recently has attained that status since we have moved to Rockford. Merv is one of my next door neighbors; he is a cross between Wilson from Home Improvement, and Mr. Rogers. More the latter than the former I think. Merv and his wife, Ruth, live directly across the street; the road is not a barrier between our houses, more like a moving conveyor belt like you might see in an airport. A couple of times a week either he or I can be seen floating across the street to chat or borrow stuff.

Merv is seventy-five years old but (and this is said in the most positive sense of the word) acts like a twenty-four year old. He stands five foot six at the maximum; his thin white hair waves in the wind like corn silk. Sometimes I watch the hair on his head - it is mesmerizing, it puts me into a trance. Sometimes a rouse myself and find him looking at me as if I have missed the question he has put forth. I don't know if I have seen Merv yet without a smile on his face. Smiles are always encouraged by eyes and Merv has really big eyes - they are magnified by enormous glasses with lenses circa 1980.

The thing about Merv is he's got ants in his pants. That's what my parents used to say when I, or my siblings, couldn't sit still. It seems to me like Merv mows his lawn four times a week or he's got some sort of project that requires immediate attention. Sometimes, when Merv can't find things to do at his house, he'll come over to mine and start fixing things at my place. A few weeks ago, while I was walking Greta home from school, one of my other neighbors, Christina, asked if I was hiring out for lawn help. With a surprised look on my face I told her 'no.' She said that there was this old guy in my front lawn spreading fertilizer. She wondered why I hadn't hired someone younger to do my lawn.

Another time I got a call at my office by a different neighbor who had called to tell me there was a stranger on top of my roof (and he didn't have a big red suit and a bag of toys). Merv had been on the roof of my house patching my chimney so it didn't leak.

I like Merv - not just 'cause he takes care of me and teaches me how to do home improvement projects, but because he's an average Joe - Average Merv; I should start calling him that.

A month ago, after Christine and I had watched our two maple trees fall, I decided to rent a log-splitter. Most people who know me know that I am machinery inept. Table saws scare me; jigsaws give me nightmares and my last attempt at using a nail gun made me so angry I almost nailed my shoe to the floor. It's not that I don't understand machinery, but I think there is a vast conspiracy by tool makers and moving part experts to foil all attempts that I make to improve my home.

So, I decided to get a log splitter. I have neither the muscles nor the aim to split all the logs of two trees. I also decided that I needed help. If anyone would know anything about splitting logs, it would have to be Merv. When I asked him he said, "Sure I'll help you split logs."

"You've done this before, right?" I asked.

"I was an accountant - that wasn't part of the job description," he responded. "But, how hard can it be?"

It turns out, it really wasn't that hard. The guy who rented the machine to me showed me all of the proper procedures for turning it on, squishing logs, proper use blah, blah, blah. All that I heard and saw was this cool looking contraption that looked like a cannon from a space ship. I couldn't wait to get home to try the baby out.

As we backed the machine into the driveway, Merv's perma-smile got just a bit bigger. We had three hours to be 'real men' doing 'real men' things. Like Tim the Toolman, I got everything prepared and we started the operation. At first we were tentative; I was putting logs in, pulling my hands back while Merv ran the joystick. It was loud, hot work but the power of the machine was incredible. Even the biggest logs splintered like twigs. As we got the hang of it, I got more and more comfortable with what I was doing. The machine was no more an instrument of great power but a toy. I lessened my attentiveness. Faster and faster I put the logs on; pulling them out with great abandonment.

Around 11:00 Merv said that he had to go to lunch soon so I increased the pace.

It happened so quickly. I don't remember how it happened, but in my haste, in my ignorance of the true power of the machinery, pain surge from my hand. Somehow, on the last log, the end of my thumb had become lodged between the log and the brace and as the wedge crushed the log, so too was the end of my thumb. Pain was instantaneous; so was the blood. I looked at the remnant of the last part of my thumb, then I looked at Merv and shook my head. It wasn't good and certainly wasn't pretty. If only I hadn't been so stupid. If only I could just rewind my life a few minutes and remember the power of the machinery. If I could go back and do it all over again.

I got to visit the doctor a couple of days later. I won't go into the graphic details of what my thumb looked like but we'll just say it wasn't for the squeamish. The doctor didn't seem to care too much. Obviously they've seen some things worse than this. He unwrapped the splint and thumb made a 'hmmm' sound from his throat - that made me nervous and then said, 'Looks good, Mr. Matthias."

What? Looks good? Are you joking or just a sadist?

"Well," he said, "Here's what's probably going to happen: First of all, the bone you broke probably will never reconnect - but some scar tissue will build up between the bones and maybe that will be just fine. Second thing. Your thumb nail will fall off - or at least part of it. If it doesn't come all the way off, we'll probably have to numb your thumb and pull it off." I think my eyes started to roll back in my head for a little bit. "Stay with me, Mr. Matthias. If, and that's a big if, if your nail comes back the odds are it won't be in the same formation that it was in the past. It probably will have some ridges - only half may come in. In fact, it may be that your nail doesn't grow out straight, but out and up. That will be interesting." Interesting for you, Doc. So, what he's telling me, get used to being The Thumb in the freak show at the Circus.

"What about the numbness, Doc?" I asked. I hate the feeling of not being able to feel a certain part of skin. That gives me the willies.

"Because the cut was so deep, you probably won't gain full feeling again. You might experience pressure or maybe some hot and cold, but feeling - I don't know. It'll just take time to see how this all plays out. But, you'll get used to it."

Easy for him to say. Easy for him to say.

If only. A lot of if only's come talk to me. If only I hadn't said this. If only I hadn't done that.

A man called me a while ago and said that his wife had caught him cheating on her - it wasn't physical, but there were some questionable e-mails and photographs. Some would call it an emotional affair - semantics, if you ask me - Jesus says, if you even look at another woman who is not your wife in a lustful way, you have committed adultery. Either way, his wife was appropriately furious, angry, hurt and resentful. The man asked me if I knew what was going to happen.

If only. If only.

Well, in many ways it is a perfect application of The Thumb analogy. Marriage, when first begun, normally has an essence of power about it. We stand back and revel in the beauty and awesomeness of trusting your heart and life to someone else. The vows we make impel us to be very careful with the heart of the person that we are caring for. Sometimes, after a few years, marriage for some becomes routine - it becomes just a part of life and the emotional and physical power that once seemed so overwhelming becomes a normal part of life. Some forget the awesome power that marriage has and we take it for granted. Then, eyes are put where they shouldn't be or hearts where they weren't meant to be. This man said it was exciting at first. It felt like he was getting away with something. He felt like a 'real man' again. Someone was paying attention to him.

But then the fateful day. He was caught. Trapped. Squished. Broken. If only he could do it over.

Now the predicament that his sin had led him to was very painful, very present and very real. The brokenness of their marriage may or may not ever be healed. Certainly, it would never be the same. The scar tissue might heal to some semblance of the past, but numbness might be a constant for the rest of their life together. Just like my nail may not come in fully, or even at all, their marriage will take a lot of time and healing before it is functional again. He and his wife need a splint, but it will take a superhuman amount of forgiveness from an incredibly strong wife to begin to trust and grow again.

The man didn't appreciate the power of marriage. In the bond of marriage there should be safety. When a man and woman leave their parents and join themselves together, they are one. What the husband does affects the wife - everything! What the wife does, the husband feels - everything! That is the power of marriage.

If only the world would start to respect the power of marriage more.