It’s 20 years ago. Friends are over and we’re going to make homemade ice cream and old fashioned popcorn. I place the cast iron skillet on the stove, melt some butter in it and begin pouring in some popcorn seeds.

My wrist flinches, sending the seeds all over the kitchen floor. My friends come in to the kitchen. I don’t see them. I see myself kneeling in a cast iron skillet full of popcorn seeds with my chest and nose in the corner of the kitchen. I feel my knees bleeding.

I tell my friends about the many times one of my dads used that as a form of “discipline” on my brother, sister and I. We pray. Good friends.

Why did I only then remember those experiences? I know some people have their psycho babble answers but what if God is such a precise Surgeon that He only brings to the surface some of our wounds when we are ready for Him to heal them.