I recently broke my toe. I was goofing around with my oldest daughter–we play this game in our house that whenever two people are going up the stairs at the same time, the one going 2nd must chase the one going 1st, all the while screaming, “I’mgonnagetcha! I’m gonnagetcha!”

So, up the stairs I feverishly ran with my 11 year old in hot pursuit. Let me tell you something else to explain what happened next.

I have exceptionally long toes. And when I was a boy, and if you came to my house for dinner, no matter how old you were or how inappropriate it might have seemed, my parents insisted on showing everyone how long my toes are. It was standard after-dinner entertainment in the Varner home. You put that together with closing act called, “Jerry, blow your cheeks up”, and you’ve got an evening full of wholesome, personally humiliating entertainment.

So, I’ve got long toes.

So when I reached the top of the stairs while running away from my crazed middle school daughter, the toe next to my big toe (Toe #2) on my right foot folded under and I stepped on it. Ouch. Actually, I think what I said was, “I think I broke my toe. I think I broke my toe.” All while laughing/whimpering.

And over the next 24 hours the color of my toe confirmed that indeed, something was awry.

You know what you do for a broken toe? Me neither. But I hear its pretty much nothing. So, I taped the purple one to a normal colored one and hoped for the best.

Call me crazy, but that to me is a picture of Christian community. We all get bumped, bruised, and even broken through the trials of life. But as long as we’ve got someone nearby who’s able to stand there with us, well…just tape yourself to them (in a manner of speaking, of course), and you’ll be okay.

As for my toe…its barely purple anymore and the pain is nearly completely gone. Thanks, Toe #3.