The Wrong Road!

"Dad, I don't see anything in front of us!"  Elliot said in a very concerned voice.

I looked over my shoulder to where my 3 year old son was residing in his car seat.  "It's a good thing there isn't anything in front of us, or we'd run into it," I said.

There was silence for a little while, maybe ten seconds, then Elliot piped up again:  "Dad, I don't think this is the right way to go.  Actually...  I think this is the wrong road!"

We were driving on country roads in Virginia, going to visit Elaine's uncle David.  "Elliot," I said.  "You don't even remember going to Virginia before.  You've never been to Uncle David's house.  How would you know?"

"I don't want to be on the wrong road!"  He wailed.

Hard to believe that a three year old could get worked up, particularly about directions, but he sure could.  Furthermore, Elliot was no GPS.  The roads he thought were the wrong roads were inevitably the right way to go.

As I look at this coming year, it is fresh and untravelled.  The paths within it are unknown to me.

I don't know what the future holds or, everything the next year holds, but I would rely on my God to choose the right paths for me to take.  For, He is trustworthy and far better than a GPS unit at getting me where I need to be -- at the right times, in the right way.

Gifts

Christmas is a time of year when people give gifts.  I remember as a boy going shopping to buy my parents something for Christmas.

It was hard, because I usually only had five or six dollars to spend for everyone on my list.  Often I ended up getting tiny candles, or pencils with scripture quotes because it was all I could afford.

When Christmas rolled around my parents always acted very pleased with the little trinkets I gave them.  As a dad, I understand.  I don't need any of the things that my children can buy me, but the gifts demonstrate hearts full of love.

In the same way, I believe that God likes us to give Him things, not because He needs anything from us, but because it demonstrates our love for Him.

God doesn't need our stuff, but He wants our love.

Even as we give to others, we are giving to Him.  "Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me."

It has been said that we should give until it hurts, but I believe that we should give till it stops hurting.  Only then will we demonstrate the love that is inside.

The Darkest Day of the Year

The darkest day of the year is coming up.  The shortest day.  The longest night.  Whatever you want to call it, December 21st is the winter solstice and in Paoli, Indiana, that means that we will have just nine hours and twenty-eight minutes of day light.  This isn't nearly enough and I would petition the state legislature for more, if I thought it would accomplish something.  With all of the gray days we've been dealing with it, it seems like a long time since I've seen that ball of fire in the sky we call the sun.

I know that there are many who deal with greater darkness than that which is brought on by the coming of winter.  Her, in this dreary time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, they feel loss.  A face they will not see again, a voice they long to hear this holiday season and will not.

Reading the news and even just the postings of others on Facebook, I see a darkness in the world around that cannot be penetrated by the brightest of flashlights.

It was into just such a time of darkness that Jesus was born, over two thousand years ago.  He came to a people full of want, a country ravaged by war, and oppressed by a harsh Roman government.

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone." (Isaiah 9:2).

There are many types of night within this world, but I have found that into each situation Jesus brings His light.  And where He is, darkness cannot remain.

"This Child Will Change Your Life!"

"Your life just won't be the same."

I remember clearly the older lady who told me this, nine years ago, when my wife and I were expecting our first child.  I'm not sure exactly what she meant.

Perhaps she meant that we would have messy diapers and baby food in our futures.  Perhaps she knew that we could no longer sit at a table set for two, or that we would have plenty of evenings where we rubbed the sleep from our eyes to clean up the after effects of a stomach virus or, console a child dealing with bad dreams.

Perhaps she knew that I would become less selfish -- focusing on the needs of this little girl who was coming to live with us, rather than on what made me happy.

I don't know exactly what she meant, but she sure was right.

I can imagine some older lady saying the same thing to Joseph and Mary, some two thousand years ago. 

"This child will change your life!"

Probably the same things were true for baby Jesus.  He was a normal baby.  He did everything a normal baby and child would do.  His parents did the normal things parents do to take care of a growing infant and child.  He grew and they were changed in the process.

Yet, He came to earth to do more than just change His parent's lives.  He came to change the world.

This Christmas, I pray that all of you would meet Him, know Him, and love Him.

This child will change your life.

If you let Him.

Gratitude

The world is full of terrible illnesses.  Ebola, Malaria, Entero viruses, and the list goes on.  There are plenty of infections that have no test and no cure, yet still cause devastation.  Yet, my family and I are healthy.

I realize that this health does not come from vitamins, or healthy eating, or good genetics.  It does not come because we are special, or more valuable than people who are suffering in West Africa.  It is simply that we are blessed.

The world is full of poverty.  There are many who struggle to find food for their children and who make their homes in little, stolen spaces on the edge of dumps or, in wastelands.  Yet, my family and I have more than enough and my children have never known hunger.

I realize that this plenty does not come because of hard work, or intelligence, or amazing skill.  It does not come to me because I am special or work more than the many who struggle to find nourishment.  It is simply that I am blessed.

There are so many other ways in which I am blessed.  I cannot count them all.  It is awfully easy for me to fall into the mind set where I believe that I deserve the very things which are gifts from God, to believe that God has blessed me because I am special.

I have read elsewhere that Christians should not say that they are blessed when they are referring to material blessings.  But God blesses in many ways, some of them material and some intangible, but the most important thing is never to forget that all of these things are undeserved gifts.

When a gift becomes an expectation, gratitude leaves.

God has given me much and for it, I am grateful.  Perhaps the best way to show my gratitude is to share my blessings with others.

Thanksgiving

A week ago, we got a sudden snowfall of three inches of snow.  Vince's school was cancelled completely, although Anna's was on time.

The children were pretty thrilled by the snow.  That evening, both Anna and Vince prayed:  "Thank you, thank you, thank you for the snow!"

Of course, we live in Indiana and three days later temperatures were up to fifty degrees and all of the snow was melting.  Then, both Anna and Vince prayed:  "Thank you, thank you, thank you that the snow is melting!"

As it says in Job, "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

I am not totally certain why so many people fixate on the weather.  We can't change it, most of us don't depend on it for our livelihood, and yet, it is something that we talk about an awful lot.

Certainly, we can see God's faithfulness in the changing of the seasons, just as we see it in the rising of the sun and the rotations of the planets.  And this is what I am grateful for -- not a little fall of snow, or its melting -- but a great God who loves and cares for the smallest details of this Universe and who is faithful in its administration.

This Thanksgiving I am grateful for many things, but most of all, I am thankful that Jesus loves me.

Pessimistic

Margaret was a born pessimist.  Not that I knew here when she was born.  She was probably about 78 years of age, when I first met her.

One day she came in to see me with a slightly happier look on her perpetually gloomy countenance.  "Dr. Waldron," she said.  "Something good almost happened to me last week."

"What was that?"  I asked her.

"Well, my son, Charlie, took me down to the pharmacy to get my prescriptions filled the other day and while we were down there, I didn't know it, but he put my name in a drawing to win a free scooter."

"Oh," I said.

"Yes," said Margaret.  "You can probably guess already.  I was pretty shocked when the man from the pharmacy called to say that I'd won that scooter.  I thought they must have called the wrong Margaret, but he assured me that no, they had the right person.  Well, I was pretty pleased for a little while -- till they got it out to my place and saw how big it was."

"Dr. Waldron, I just don't know what I'm going to do with it.  It's just way too big for me!"

Margaret was just one of those blessed folks who believes there can't be a silver lining without a dark cloud somewhere near.  That where there is smoke, there's sure to be a fire -- and likely a burning house with children in it.

Such an attitude is depressing to be around and it can be contagious.

Of course, the difference is all in perspective.  There wasn't any real down side to her scooter -- it was free.  She could use it a little or a lot, it didn't matter.

I am afraid that I can have a pretty similar view of the world, depending on the day.  It seems unreasonable to turn from pessimism to optimism, for optimists are often wrong.  Bad things do happen and even the most optimistic person can get beaten down in this world.  Instead of optimism, I need joy.

For, joy bubbles forth from a heart that knows that God is good and that everything happens in accordance with His plan. In that joy and gratefulness even the darkest parts of life can be appreciated and the good things are enjoyed far more.

I would live in joy today.

Red Delicious?

Red Delicious.  By all accounts, based on the name, these should be the best or, almost the best apples.  They just aren't the best, by any means.

The first Red Delicious apple tree was grown on a farm near Peru, Iowa in 1880.  People liked it immediately and recognized it as a good eating apple.  It has been grown ever since.

I don't mind Red Delicious apples, in fact, I quite like them.  Except for one thing.  Many of them are hypocrites.

On the outside, they appear firm and beautifully red in color, but when you bite into them, you find a soft apple that lost its flavor awhile ago.  Beauty may be only skin deep, but with apples, it is the flavor and the texture that are important, not the color of the peeling.

There are far too many people who claim to be Christians who do not have the "taste" of Christians to others.  Everyone knows what a Christian is supposed to be, what he is supposed to do, and how he should act.  They are pretty quick to notice and point out inconsistencies.

There is little worse, to one who does not know Christ, then to see someone who claims to be a Christian act in a way that is not Christ-like.  I have heard so many people say things like:  "I would never be a Christian.  My brother claims to be one and he's the biggest hypocrite you ever saw!"

It is my responsibility to live as a true disciple of Christ.  It must not, cannot be just a surface change.  It will only be real if my heart is changed.

Red Delicious apples are all too often Mealie Masqueraders.  I would be like a Fuji or, a Gala apple, where what is on the surface goes to the core.  Love, kindness -- the sweetness of Christ permeating my life and leading others to Him.

Is Spelling Important?

"Beatle starts with 'B!'"  Elliot said emphatically.  He is learning some of his letters and beginning sounds.

"What does Vince start with?"  I asked him.

"Bince starts with 'B!'"  Elliot said.

Elliot reminds me of Spanish speakers in Central America.  For them, the letters B and V are the same sound.  Why a word like "bienvenidos" is spelled with a B and V rather than two Bs is a mystery to them.

Spelling in English is really tough.  You have weird rules like "i before e," that have a multitude of exceptions.  There are strange silent letters like p in "pneumonia" and k in "knight."  There are words that are spelled differently, but pronounced the same, like faux and foe.  There are even words that are spelled the same and pronounced differently like Polish and polish. 

I have found that it is easier to spell words correctly, if you can say them correctly. At least sometimes.

I know that many people believe that spelling is unimportant and that with the advent of computers and spell checkers and weird abbreviations like ROFL, you can get by quite in this world without learning how to spell.

Maybe they are right.  Maybe I am a throwback to the twentieth century, but I must confess that I believe a certain knowledge of spelling is important.  There are many things that separate most of us from the animals, beyond the ability to grunt "yes" in reply to the question "Do you want pancakes for breakfast?"  One of the most important of these is that we can pick up a pen, place it to paper and communicate -- without a spell checker and without electricity -- and that is a very cool thing, indeed.

Going to Heaven

Elliot at lunch time one day said:  "We're going to be with Jesus."

We were taken aback for a second, not sure where the statement came from.  Elaine said,  "Yes, Elliot, we will go to heaven some day."

Elliot's lower lip quivered.  "I don't want to go to be with Jesus!"  He said emphatically.

It turned out that Anna had been instructing Vince and Elliot on their futures.  Elliot had misunderstood and thought that he was going to heaven that afternoon.

Of course, people talk about heaven a lot and the fact that they want to go there when they die, but I think for most of them, they hope that day is a long ways off.  I suppose most of us want to go to heaven, we just don't want to have to die to get there.

And yet, if heaven is so much better than anything we can experience here on earth, wouldn't we want to go there?

Perhaps the biggest problem is that death seems so unknown.  We trust the seen, known life we live in the now rather than the unknown life in the here-after.

I don't know a whole lot about heaven.  It sounds pretty good in the Bible, but I imagine there's a lot of things left out in the descriptions there.  At the same time, my confidence isn't in a place with streets of gold, it is in a Heavenly Father who has never failed me.

While I don't know much about heaven, any place He is preparing for me has got to be pretty awesome.

Stained Hands

As I look at my fingernail beds today, they are dark and they have been that way since a couple of Saturdays ago.  Of course, my daughter Anna's fingers look worse than mine.

On Saturday, she and I peeled the hulls off of many black walnuts.  They still aren't cracked (that's a fun activity for another day), but they are ready to be.  Walnut juice stains really deeply.  Even after multiple scrubbings, the stain remains.

Last Monday, Anna's teacher even made her go wash her hands, because they looked so dirty.  I guess at least it's clean dirt...

I think of the verse from Psalms "Who shall ascend the hill of the LORD?  And who shall stand in His holy place?  He who has clean hands and a pure heart..."  This verse speaks of clean hands, but one can have filthy, walnut stained hands and still have clean hands before God.

The verse is clearly speaking of sin stains.  These are stains that go far deeper than even the subcutaneous layers.  These are stains that go to the heart.

There is a tendency to think that the remedy for sin is good deeds.  We just need to do more good than bad and that will clean the dirtied hands.  The only problem is that it doesn't work.  Sin stains are a lot more tenacious than even black walnut juice.

In the end, the only thing that will wash away these stains is the blood Jesus Christ.  For only the power in His blood can make my hands clean and heart pure before Him.

Catching Ebola

I read last week a survey of Americans that showed that they are moderately scared of getting Ebola, but that they have a lot of confidence that if they would contract the virus, they would be treated effectively.  In my opinion, that's a little backward -- I am not worried about catching Ebola, but would be pretty concerned if I actually contracted it.  But at least people aren't afraid of everything.

I suppose that's good, as it prevents panic in the streets (although not on Facebook).  Truthfully, for the tiny number of patients with Ebola Virus, who were treated in this country, the survival rate is pretty good -- far better than it is in the African nations dealing with the virus.

In the end, even in the United States, there is no "cure" for Ebola.  Infectious disease specialists have used HIV drugs, ZMAPP, and plasma infusions from Ebola survivors, but they cannot say for certain which of these things was, or will be effective.

I am afraid that modern medicine is too good at seeming like it has answers, even if it doesn't actually know very much.  The fact that we are doing "something," even if it is likely ineffective, gives people the illusion of control.

Much of life and health is actually beyond the control of humans -- even doctors who are specialists.  That is fine, because there are a lot bigger hands than ours in charge of this world.

I'm afraid that God has to bring us to the point where everything is spinning out of control, just so that we will give the control we never really had to Him.  For, when we are in God's hands, the wisest One in the Universe is in control of our destiny.  And even in the middle of an Ebola epidemic, that is a very safe place to be.

Making the Right Diagnosis

"The history is the most important thing!"

I still remember those words, spoken by one of my attending physicians in medical school.  An encounter with a patient is broken up into three parts.  The history, or what the patient tells the provider, the physical examination, and review of testing (labs/xrays).

Many believe that the physician should be like Sherlock Holmes, carefully inspecting the finger nail beds of their patients, looking at their tongues, and the soles of their feet.  Then, finally after a period of silence intone the fateful diagnosis:  "You, sir, have Tsutsugamushi Disease!"

It isn't that way.  I know about my patients from what they tell me and the key for me is listening.  Studies show that many doctors interrupt their patients within thirty seconds of them beginning to speak.  Doctors feel that they are "on the clock" and need to come to a conclusion quickly, so they can move on to the next patient. 

I feel these same time constraints.  Still, I have learned that if I let my patients tell the story in their own words, my patient tell me what I need to know in order to come to a conclusion and it really doesn't take that much time.

It isn't just about listening to patients either.  There are many people whose voices contribute to good care.  Nurses, techs, and medical assistants all tell me many things that I wouldn't know otherwise -- things that perhaps the patients wouldn't tell me, but share with them.  It may not even be symptoms, but other things, such as reasons why they aren't taking their medications or, family situations that are impacting their health.

I am just not smart enough to figure out every diagnosis without some help.  Even more, I can't always get a person the treatment that is best for them without understanding, not only their illness, but also, who they are.

It isn't easy to listen.  More often than not, when a person is speaking, doctors are figuring out what to say next or, the next question to ask.

In the end, listening isn't about me, it is about the person in the chair across from me, the nurse at the desk, or the patient in the bed.  As I listen, I will not only identify what my patient's illness is, I will learn who they are and understanding who someone is is sometimes one of the most important things to helping them find healing.