I merrily pumped our backyard seesaw oblivious to any hazard. My small foot slipped, and the rusty edge of the pedal carved a long, jagged gouge across my right ankle. Pain seared through me like a lightning bolt. I didn’t think it could get worse—until my mother appeared with soap, water, and a bottle of red mercurochrome.
The first cleaning was the worst. But my wound continued to weep after it was bandaged. This wound had to be cleaned over and over again.
In our forgiveness series, we’re spelling Freedom. The O in FREEDOM stands for Over and Over.