Two of our grandchildren were here last week, along with their parents. We were off on a local adventure when our teenage granddaughter got a sniffly nose and no tissue. So, I gave her my clean handkerchief.
“What’s this?,” she asked her mom.
“It’s a man’s handkerchief.”
“What’s it for?
“You can blow your nose on it.”
“Then what do you do with it?”
“You fold it up, put it in your pocket and save it for another blow.”
“That’s gross! You can’t be serious! That’s disgusting! Take it back!”
“Grandpa, do you really carry one of those things around all the time?”
“Yes I do; I have a lot of them.”
Long yucky pause of disbelief and disappointment. End of conversation about handkerchiefs.
There is always something new to learn about life. Some of it is gross, disgusting, and yucky ––– but useful.
I have no idea what this has to do with Trinity Sunday, or anything else for that matter.
It's the visualization of \”another blow\” with the \”saved,\”–well, how shall I put it?–snot-rag?, that is the issue. That wonderfully vivid child-imagination of the same rag (I bet she didn't focus on your having many of them), the same rag never washed, but simply being folded up and tucked away to be used…again and again…until….But, then, Steve, I simply pick my nose….Tom