Three different times I begged the Lord to take it
away. Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now
I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work
through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses,
and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for
Christ. For when I am weak, then I am
strong. 2 Corinthians 12:8-10
The
following incident is a true story which took place in 1996, in a land far, far
away; only the names have been changed to keep the innocent from going to jail.
Having
dodged most of the assorted germs, flu and nasty little airborne viruses of the
season, the tenacious bug finally sank his viscous little fangs into this
preacher. Well, talk about crash &
burn! Monday afternoon my wife and I
had eaten lunch with my Aunt and Uncle from Port Richey. By Monday evening I felt so bad – body aches,
weakness, fever – I was popping aspirin and invoking the chicken soup clause from our wedding vows (...and promise to pamper my husband’s boo-boos, etc.).
You may have
guessed I am not a very classy or silent sufferer. When I am sick I really don’t want company –
only a card that says your heart is broken, and for you, the meaning of life is
now uncertain because of my pain.
Sympathy is a wonder-drug to us wimps.
So, indulge me
as I continue shamelessly begging for sympathy.
By Tuesday
morning my poor little body had a temperature of over 101o. I was sick of chicken soup, and my thoughts
had drifted to trying to recall where I put my last will and testament. Tuesday night I lay in the bed figuring I
would die soon – by 3 AM I was afraid I wouldn’t!
On Wednesday
morning Elizabeth called the doctor for an appointment (guys and other
mule-like life forms do not call doctors).
Elizabeth had informed me it was a toss-up whether she would call the
doctor or the Beggs brothers (local funeral director). She said my eyes were fixed and dilated. She chose the doctor when she became convinced
I was still alive. What convinced her
was when she tried to take the Nyquil bottle from my hands – I growled and bit
her. (If I’d bitten a second time, she would
have called Beggs – She would have killed me!)
There were
some really unique experiences attempting to get a semi-delirious preacher
dressed, and loaded into the car. Later
I was told I wanted to ride the motorcycle
(our lawnmower) to the doctor. However,
Elizabeth finally got us to the doctor’s office...and that’s where the point of this epic came to boil.
When we
walked into the overcrowded waiting room, there were no seats available. I volunteered to stretch out on the floor,
but they put me in a wheelchair. Now, I
want you to know my doctor is a caring, compassionate healer. It was NOT my doctor, however, who put me in
that chair – it was the nurse from Auschwitz.
I believe she is related to Heinrich Himmler, or maybe Adolph
Eichman. Most nurses I have known have
reminded me of the sweet fragrance of Florence Nightingale – this one brought
visions of the Marquis de Sade.
I had taken
too many pain pills, and was having difficulty remembering how to do difficult
things (like keep drool inside my mouth).
Gestapo Gertie was giving
commands that required hand-eye coordination and utilization of the brain – I
had neither.
For
instance, you cannot…
…stand still please on
the scale…
…if you do
not know where you put your legs.
You
certainly cannot…
…keep that thermometer in your mouth,
Mister…,
…if the
feeling left your lips a few minutes after you took those six cute little
pills.
Now, I am
not a very cooperative patient when sober.
If you make me chemically drunk, adding a side-order of mild delirium,
you will have a virtual zombie on your hands; most of the time in that office I
could not have told you my name. With me
in that unusual state, Nurse Goebels
told Elizabeth to take me over to the hospital for an X-ray and blood
test. I remember thinking, Free at last, Thank God-A’mighty I’m free at
last.
But it was
not to be!
Nurse Gertie
Goebels insisted on wheeling me all the way to our car, which was parked on the
grass in front of the office.
It doesn’t
sound ominous – a nurse giving you a wheelchair ride to the car. What could go wrong?
Little did I know that Gertie’s wheelchair-pilot training had included the obstacle track and bruise maneuver. With every fiber of my being aching and
crying for a final resting place, my wheelchair chauffeur hit every bump, hole
and uneven place on the ramp; she worked the parking lot like a pro, turning
pebbles into boulders, causing exquisite, torturous waves of cranial pressure
echoing off the sides of my temples. This
was a downhill run with the precise execution (no pun) of an Olympic champion.
Approaching
the finish line (the car), I figured the worst was behind. But what does a dead man know? The
car was in the grass, and this patient’s wheelchair-torture chamber was rolling
along the pavement.
And Nurse Gertie
was going for it all.
As we neared
the end of the pavement I heard a gasp from behind (much like the accentuated
grunts a pro tennis player makes when he hits a searing ferocious backhand
cross court for a winner.
With a
second grunt, the nurse from Hades kicked
the wheelchair from LaLa Land into
high gear, enough traction to navigate a worm hole at warp speed. Her calculation was perfect. Instead of sailing over the lawn to the car,
the wheels dug in the turf, locked, pivoting all the weight forward, and
somersaulted the ecclesiastical baggage (me) headfirst onto the lawn – a
perfect four-point landing!
Moving in
for the kill, Gertie shouted Get up! I meekly replied, You the man!
EPILOGUE
I usually
visit the weak and failing – the powerless ones. I am a Pastor, able to leap tall buildings in
a single bound. This experience,
however, turned the tables. I was the
one in someone else’s hands – my fate under someone else’s whim.
The Apostle
Paul said that he had learned during the weak times of his life – the times
when he had put his own agenda down and just trusted God for everything – that in
those times of his choosing the trust
of weakness, God’s strength showed brightest.
Now, I was not weak by choice – nor was this a spiritual weakness. But the analogy serves Paul’s intent.
My nurse
missed several opportunities to be a source of compassionate healing and
comfort. She allowed a sense of
frustration with my weakness to ruin her faithfulness to her nursing oath. She did not see the pain in front of her eyes
– that need for which she was trained, and had dedicated her strength. She missed the boat, because someone in front
of her was not cooperative.
Comparing
that ministry to which you and I are called, Christians are to overcome that
kind of evil with much good. It’s hard,
but it’s better than dumping those in need on the front lawn!
For You, Today…
You are liable to find yourself confronted with
someone in need; they are everywhere.
And the patient probably won’t be himself.
So, serve a little chicken soup; be a healer. And try to remember the wheelchair is an instrument of mercy. Serving the occupant onto the front lawn is “help” that isn’t!
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