This morning I chose to be stabbed by a woman. She was testing for tuberculosis which is mandatory for the organization I work for. Each year I go into a small room, roll up my sleeves, look the other way as a nice person pokes me with a syringe and then tells me to come back in 48 hours to see if the test I am now carrying is either positive or negative. I am the test, what I carry around in my body is the test and, hopefully, on Wednesday morning I will be negative and good to go for another year.
After undergoing my yearly exam I began to reflect on how it would be nice to have a test to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong, negative, destructive in our bodies, emotions and/our spirits. It would be great and helpful to know if we have somehow picked up habits, hurts, hangups that, if not addressed, would destroy who we’re meant to be and what we’re truly meant to do.
There may not be this type of test but some of the things we can do is make sure our priorities stay properly ordered, humbly seek others’ input and corrections if needed, always remember that we are only given a finite amount of time, energy, passion and make sure to use them wisely.