“First I gotta fix my foot.” It came out as a whisper. We both glanced at it, like it could hear us gossiping. “Does it need fixin’?” I turned to him sharply, ready to fight, only to find nothing but honesty on his face. He wasn’t making a joke. “Yes?” I didn’t mean for it to come out like a question. “Seems to me you’re getting along just fine the way it is.” I pressed my lips into a scowl. “That ain’t the point.”
My grandfather used to have a magnet on his fridge thar sais, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." It was something that always stuck with me. How often do we try to fix things based on the world's standard of broken rather than God's?
