Of Lilacs and Dandelions

"Do you like the way Lilacs smell?"  I asked my sons, who were sitting at the kitchen table eating a very nourishing breakfast.

Vince just looked at me and said nothing.  Apparently he has no opinion about such trivial things as flower smells.  Now if I had asked him a question about Thomas, that would have been a different story.

Elliot spoke up.  "No Dad, I don't like the way Lilacs smell."

"Really?"  I said.  "What flowers do you like then?"

"I like the way Dandelions smell,"  Elliot said firmly.

I must confess that I am not in total disagreement with my son about the smell of lilacs.  They are currently blooming at my home and it is just too much.  Every time I open my back door, it is as though a phalanx of purple hatted ladies, each of whom had just dowsed herself in perfume, is waiting to assault me.

To this point I have survived, but just barely.

On the other hand, I can't say that I am too impressed with Dandelions.  Perhaps it is the way they poke their fuzzy heads above the lawn, or pop up in the flower beds, but I don't see much beauty in them.  I have absolutely no idea how (or even if) they smell.

Perhaps that is just my loss.  For, there is more beauty in a bouquet of Dandelions in a child's sweaty hand that he is holding out to his mother than in all of the royal jewels in Europe.  Even if they don't look like peace roses, there is an intrinsic beauty that God placed within them.

But it is more than that.

In the end, it is not the smell of flowers, or the delicacy of their blooms, but the love with which they are given that makes all the difference.

A Large Case of Strep

The smallest deeds make the biggest difference in this world. This is particularly true when they are done in a spirit of giving and humility. I must confess that there have been many times that I have forgotten this. It seems that every time I forget, I am reminded of it by something in my life or practice.

In my three years of residency training I saw hundreds, possibly thousands of patients. Numerous times I was awakened in the middle of the night to admit dying patients or to go rushing up the stairs in a desperate attempt to stave off death in the Intensive Care Unit. In this whole three years I received only two thank you notes from patients. Of these two, one of them stands out clearly in my mind.

It was a busy day in my clinic in my second year of training. I was working in the office seeing patients after having been up most of the previous night on call. I was trying (unsuccessfully) to get done early when my nurse told me that the front office had added another patient on to my schedule.

I swallowed my frustration as I went in to see little Alex. He was just a year and a half old. His mother was a Russian immigrant who spoke poor English. She was on the brink of tears. She explained, in broken sentences, that Alex had run high fevers over the last two days and he was not drinking very much.

I examined him carefully and quickly discovered the source of the child’s fever. His tonsils were huge and swollen with white patches. A quick throat swab confirmed the diagnosis: Strep Throat. After my nurse had given him a shot of penicillin, I assured his mother that Alex would be better soon.

Two weeks later I received an envelope at the office. In it was a card from Alex’s mother, thanking me for curing her son. Reading the broken sentences within, you would have thought that I had saved Alex from death, not cured him from Strep Throat. Yet, in his mother’s eyes I had done much.

These are the things that matter most. It is said that we are called, not to do great things, but to do small things with great love. This is true.

To take care of small matters is very important. There are so many more cases of Strep Throat than there are cases of meningitis to treat and yet, there is a tendency to believe that those with Strep Throat don’t really matter since their problem is small in comparison. Nothing could be further from the truth, for problems that may seem small to others are huge to those experiencing them – even if they just have Strep Throat.

Opossums Are Special

Opossums are ugly -- at least to everyone but other opossums.  They are slow and anything but fierce.  No one would think of naming their sports team after them.  Somehow the "Paoli 'Possums" doesn't sound like it would strike fear in the heart of any but the most timid opponent.

At the same time, there is something special about opossums:  LTNF.

It turns out that opossums have something in their blood stream called Lethal Toxin Neutralizing Factor or, LTNF for short.  Opossums are not harmed by the bites of venomous snakes, or the stings of scorpions or bees.  LTNF even neutralizes the effects of the effects of botulinum toxin and the chemical weapon Ricin.

I had always heard that after World War III, only the cockroaches would survive to take over the world.  Maybe it would actually be the opossums.  Somehow "Planet of the 'Possums" doesn't sound like a big hit, though.

The reality is that God has made each opossum, each animal, and each human with individual attention to detail.  Psalm 139 says "I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well."

It is tough for me to appreciate the amazing detail that God placed into the people around me.  I -- and everyone else -- are part an amazing creation, and each one of us has been given individual, unique talents that serve a purpose.

There is something amazing about us all -- speedy cheetahs and powerful elephants and tiny lap dogs.

Even beady eyed, slow of foot, not-sure-if-they're-really-dead opossums.