Easter Thoughts

I looked at the CT Scan results with a sinking feeling.  There was a mass in the head of my patient's pancreas.  That was bad enough, but worse, it looked like some of the nearby lymph nodes were enlarged, as well.

The man whose CT Scan results I was looking at, Jim, was a sixty year old man who had come in to see me for vague abdominal pain and some weight loss.  He didn't really have time to slow down as he was caring for two special needs children.  You could see in his eyes how much he loved them and could feel in the air how much they needed him. 

I shook my head, afraid of what the future held for them all.

As I picked up the phone to call Jim, I asked myself how I was going to share his results with him and still give him hope -- without being dishonest.  Fortunately, I suppose, I don't know the future and it is easy to fall back on that uncertainty to give someone a little light in an otherwise dark diagnosis.

I suppose the thing that keeps me going in medicine is the fact that those sorts of phone calls are few and far between.  It isn't usually all that hard to bring hope into a situation.

There are people who believe that the Bible is a book full of good teachings.  They think that it contains philosophy that enhances a person's life.  They just can't seem to believe the miracles that line its pages.

If I am honest, the Bible is a book that passes a death sentence on every person.  It is full of verses like "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God."  In a sense, it is like a doctor who walks into each room to give a terminal illness as the diagnosis and then walks out, taking all hope with him. 

No treatment.

No cure.

That is all the Bible would say, except for one thing.

The Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

For, one day, two thousand years ago, one man conquered sin and death.  There is an assurance that because His tomb is empty, Jesus has power over death and that His promises are certain.  There is forgiveness and pardon and hope for all.

Because He lives we can too.

There's a Pill for That

I looked across at the older gentleman sitting across from me.  "What?"  I said in a surprised voice.

"I'm not helping you, am I?"  He repeated.  "I mean, I'm taking the medicine you prescribe me, but look at me,"  he gestured with his hands.  "I'm a hundred pounds over weight and I'm not exercising.  I'm not doing the stuff I know I should do to get healthy.  And you're supposed to make me feel better with pills?"

I sat back a little.  Roy knew the right things to do, but his tone was already defeated before he had even started to try to do them.  "Roy,"  I told him.  "You don't need to lose a hundred pounds.  But you do need to start setting some goals."

"I would just like to see you take small steps to improve your diet and start exercising -- slowly at first and gradually building up from there.  You'll probably lose some weight, but more importantly, you will start to feel good again."

We continued our conversation, but I kept thinking about Roy's statement and his question.  Is there a pill that will take the place of healthy living, diet and exercise?

The answer is, unfortunately, "No."  There are diet pills, there are personal trainers and gym memberships, but in the end, it is up to each one of us whether we will do things we know to be healthy.

The problem is not usually education -- most of us know what we should do -- the issue is motivation.


Over and over again, I struggle with this in my own life -- not with lack of knowledge, but with lack of motivation.  How do I make myself want to do the things that I know I should do?

In the end, this motivation is the difference between living in victory or struggling with defeat and no one can take responsibility for it except for me.

Knowing My Pilot

I really don't like flying.

There is something about strapping yourself into a metal device that propels you up to bounce above the clouds that just seems unnatural.  If God had really intended for us to fly, you would think He'd have given us wings, not these spindly things we call arms and legs.

I think part of the issues is that I don't really know who's flying the plane.  To me, the pilot is just a disembodied voice saying things like "We're expecting some turbulence for the next forty-five minutes, so please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts."

If I knew the pilot and co-pilot, maybe I would trust them to take me from one end of my journey to the other -- regardless of the weather we might face in the middle.

Of course, I have no chance to get to know these fine folks, but when it comes to life, I have opportunity to get to know my Pilot -- if I choose to do so.

You see, Jesus is not my co-pilot, He is my Pilot.  I trust He will guide me as He wants, but there are plenty of times when Jesus takes my plane and steers it directly into a hurricane with gale force winds.  Only because I know Him can I believe that He knows what He is doing and will fly me out the other side.

I am afraid that many folks choose the middle of the storm to throw themselves on God's mercy.  Then, when the clouds finally clear, they forget about the importance of a pilot in their life.

I have found, that to have peace in the storm, I need to know my pilot before hand.  Only then can I have the confidence to know that He will carry me through -- whatever I am facing.

Learning Patience



 

It wasn't a particularly clear day as we boarded our flight headed from Baltimore to Louisville, Kentucky.  The clouds weren't particularly ominous, but neither was the sun visible.  However, we quickly rose above the clouds after take off and could see the sun beaming down on the tops of the puffy clouds.

It seemed like an amazingly short time that the captain came on the intercom to announce that we were going to be descending into Louisville and that the flight attendants would be confiscating our garbage and make us sit upright and put our tray tables away.  I glanced at my watch.  We were a half an hour ahead of time!

When we landed and docked at our gate, there was no cheering for the early arrival time.  Instead, every one got up and started pressing to get off of the plane.  Being early certainly didn't give any of the passengers patience.

Watching people drive gives another clue, for there are plenty of folks who would cut off their mother in traffic, if it meant that they would arrive at their exit one car length sooner.

Of course, there times when one has reason to be in a hurry -- a real emergency of one kind or another, but I am afraid in general, we just are in the habit of hurrying and can't be bothered to slow down.  So often, we rush like crazy only to run into a traffic jam or, some other block in our day that stops us in our tracks.

It may be human to hurry, but it brings peace to learn patience.  Just learning to calm my spirit a moment or two, to slow down a little and absorb the beauty around me, helps get me where God needs me to be.

For, in my experience, God isn't interested in getting me to hurry, but rather to slow down enough to pay attention to Him and to see the needs around me.  And if He has to put a traffic jam in my way to get me to slow down, He'll do exactly that.

The one thing I can guarantee is that you'll never learn patience in a hurry.

Seed Catalogs

Seed catalogs have started to come in the mail again.  I suppose that there are some folks out there that don't get any of these colorful reminders that spring is on its way, but I get plenty of them.

I suppose it is a little amusing that at the beginning of February, I can go outside to shovel my driveway and then come inside and flip through a catalog and decide what I will plant in the spring.

I always look through these catalogs and circle the seeds that I want.  I guess you could call it the contemplation stage, because once the seeds are ordered and begin to arrive, I have committed to a certain level of work.

None of the seeds I have ever purchase plant themselves or weed themselves (you would think here in the twenty first century we would be there, but not yet).  Somehow it takes a lot of effort to get seeds from being little tiny bits of potential to something that actually bears fruit.

I suppose that is why I like gardening so much.  What you get from your garden bears direct relationship to the effort that you put into it.

Perhaps it is easy to think that the rest of life is different.  Certainly some people inherit lots of money or seem to get promotions without really trying, but for the things that matter most -- relationships with friends, family, and God, there are no short cuts.  We get out exactly what we put in.

 

Raining Mucus?

"Did you know that snot and boogers are the same thing?"  Elliot asked his siblings.

"No, Elliot," Vince said.  "Boogers are something you eat."

The other children began to laugh.  "Those are burgers, Vince,"  Anna told him.

Elliot cleared his throat,  "I wish,"  he said, as dramatically as a four year old with half a mouthful of meatloaf can.  "I wish, it would rain snot!"

"That's gross,"  Anna said, wrinkling up her face in disgust.

"Well," I said.  "If that was the case, I guess you'd feed Zeus whenever it rained.  But I guess you could always use a Kleenex for an umbrella."

I'm pretty glad that this earth -- that our Universe was not designed by a four year old.

Worse than the idea of a child designing the things we see, many believe in no Creator.  There are plenty of people who believe that everything here happened by chance.  That the Universe is an unfriendly, capricious place, where evil routinely happens because of the idle whims of fate and yet, when I awaken to see a beautiful sunrise, or see a rainbow after a rain storm, I can't believe that.

This world is such an amazing place because someone a lot smarter than Elliot designed it that way.

God has put into place a Universe full of beauty and order and light.  Whatever direction you choose to look, there is something worth seeing -- something that shows an Almighty God's fingerprints and does so a lot more than a mucus rain shower ever would.

Choosing to Do Nothing

"I just don't want to do anything,"  Anthony told me.

"Are you sure?"  I asked him.  "A lot of cancers are treatable with chemotherapy, or radiation.  I'm not an expert on the subject, but maybe it would be better to talk to one -- at least to know your options."

"No," Anthony said firmly.  "My mind is made up, I don't want to do any of those things.  I know I'm going to die, but so are we all some day -- I'm just going to die a little sooner than some others."

Anthony had some kind of neck cancer -- we knew that from his CT Scan.  What cell type it was exactly and how treatable it was, we didn't know.

"How long do you think I have, Doc?"  He asked me.

These are the sorts of questions that have no good answers.  "I don't really know," I said.  "Maybe a year?"

We talked on about different things, many of them not particularly medical.  As we neared the close of the visit, I felt a need to consult a Greater Physician.

I'm just a simple family doctor.  I don't know all the answers, but I know someone who does.

"Could we pray together?"  I asked him.

"Yes, I'd like that,"  Anthony said.

As I prayed, I asked for healing -- for some divine removal of his cancer.  I suppose more than that, I prayer for strength and peace for him in the coming days.

I know that I was praying just as much for myself for those things.  For, it is hard for a doctor to stand by and not try to "do something" to treat an illness and yet the most important thing is to affirm my patient's wishes.

Prayer is a bridge that helps us cross dark waters.  It is something that unites as well, for I know when I finished, we both had tears in our eyes.

"Thank you," the other man told me.  "I've never had a doctor pray for me before."

"You're welcome."

"Dr. Waldron," he told me.  "You know, I'm not afraid to die.  It's the road that I'm going to take to get there that scares me a little bit."

"Well,"  I said.  "I'll do everything I can to maybe you comfortable, but more than that, I know God will be with you every step of the way."

That's all that any of us can ask for.

Blinded!

"Dad, I can't see!"  Vince wailed at me.

We had just sledded down our hill together and hit a clump of fresh powder that flew up in both of our faces.  Apparently, some of the snow had gotten in my son's eyes.

"You'll be fine, Vince," I said.  "The nice thing about snow is that it melts."

"I'm blind, Dad, and you just don't care!"  He shot back at me.

Fortunately, Vince isn't blind, just a little melodramatic.  By the time we started walking up the hill, his sight had miraculously recovered, although his spirits hadn't.

Blindness is a difficult thing to deal with.  These days, most of the blindness that I see develops, not from sledding accidents, but gradually from diseases like diabetes and macular degeneration.  Whether it happens gradually or quickly, losing one's sight is not a laughing matter.

At the same time, even though there are fewer people with physical blindness, there are just as many people with spiritual blindness in this world.  And it is a lot harder thing to cure.

It is hard to deal with, because we don't really want to see ourselves as we are, to evaluate the motives that are behind our actions and understand how we come across to others.  It is easier to remain blind and pretend that we are good hearted, well intentioned people who are a joy to our friends and family, rather than sinners in need of a Savior.

John Newton wrote three hundred years ago, in the song Amazing Grace, that he had been "lost, but now was found, was blind but now I see." 

It is Jesus's redeeming work in a life that brings vision and healing.  It is His touch which drops the scales from our eyes and His power that allows us to walk in victory.

Beautiful Snow!

It is southern Indiana -- a place where the temperature can drop from fifty degrees to twenty degrees over the course of a few hours -- and one of our favorite past times here is complaining about the weather.  When, as happened last weekend, there falls a blanket of white stuff from the sky, it really brings out the moans from the locals.

I suppose it is understandable.  It really does make driving more treacherous and if you have to get somewhere, your stress level on arriving may be just below the boiling point.  At the same time, it never seems to help folks around here to realize that there are places out west where they get three hundred plus inches of snow a year.

Even more, snow adds such beauty to the gray days and landscapes around us.  It as though, for a few days, the gray brown grass and fields are covered in a beautiful wedding gown that shimmers in the cold winter's light.

I would rather keep the snow around for awhile -- not for sledding or, making snow angels and snowmen -- but for the beauty that it brings to this cold and dark time of year. 

There is beauty in every season, but I am afraid that we are a little too stressed sometimes to notice it.  It doesn't change the beauty to complain, but it certainly does rob us of a little enjoyment that we could have otherwise had.

Snow does bring its challenges, but before we lift a snow shovel, or get behind the wheel to brave the elements, we should stop for a moment to wonder at the beauty before us.  For, He has made everything beautiful in His time -- even an otherwise drab, winter Indiana landscape.

Honest Prayers

We do devotions as a family every evening.  When Elliot was two and it was his turn to pray, he received some "guidance."

One evening, Elaine was praying with him.  "Dear Jesus, thank you for my family," Elliot dutifully repeated.  "And help Anna feel better,"  once again Elliot repeated the prayer.  "And help me to be an obedient boy."

After this there came a pause and Elliot looked up at his mother.  "No," he said.  "I don't want to say that."

I was struck by the honesty of our two year old.  He didn't want to be obedient, so why pray for help in that area?

I had to ask myself as well, how many times I had prayed words asking for victory in some area that I was unwilling to yield to Jesus.

In Luke, Jesus tells the story of a dishonest judge who finally gives justice to a poor widow, because she plagues him until he gives in.  Will not God, who is just and loving, listen more to His children who cry out to Him?  The key to this story is that the widow truly wanted what she was asking for.  She wanted it so much that she could think of little else but her court case.

So often, the things that we want are not the important things.  Improvements in pay, safety in travel, and even health are not nearly as important as growing closer to God.  And so we mouth words asking for the important things -- growth and victory -- even while we desire a lot of trivial things.

God so often gives us what we want, not what we ask for.  I guarantee that He will not help Elliot obey, if Elliot's heart is set on disobedience.

The Reason for the Season

It was a busy evening in the emergency department.  Patients with chest pains and coughs and weird rashes were waiting for test results and hoping to leave before midnight.

In the midst of this semi-organized chaos, an ambulance pulled up with a four year old boy who had experienced a seizure at home.  As the EMS crew wheeled him in to the department, he went into another seizure.  As the emergency room physician gave some orders, the boy's father arrived.  "Doctor," he said plaintively.  "Why is he seizin'?  Why is he seizin'?"

"I don't know yet,"  the doctor told him, even as he choked back the desire to tell him, "Don't you know that Jesus is the reason for the seizin'?"

Christmas is a busy time.  It is a time of working extra hard to get a few days off,  a time of baking cookies for folks in jail and for neighbors, and a time of visiting people in nursing homes.  There is an awful lot of "good" busyness this time of year and in that, it is awfully easy to forget the Reason for the Season.

Of course, Jesus is the Reason for the Season and while He came to earth as a little baby, He didn't stay a tiny child.  The Incarnation was just one little step on a long road that lead to a cross and then to a victorious morning, three days later.  Without any of these steps, there would be no salvation.

I was reading the words to the poem "I heard the Bells on Christmas Day," recently.  It is easy to forget, in this time of terrorism and these days of chaos that there have been other dark times.  Longfellow penned these words during the American Civil War, when Longfellow's son had been seriously wounded and his wife had recently died.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said:
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!"

In these words, I find hope in this time of darkness. For, I know that Jesus did bring peace -- not to the world as a whole, but to the hearts of those who trust Him.

What You Don't Know...

"What happened?"  I asked the middle aged gentleman resting in the hospital bed.

"Well, I guess my sugar got a little high," Clifford told me.

"How did that happen?"  I asked him.

"Well, it's a long story.  I guess it started because my sugars were so good.  They were always less than 150.  So, I decided to go off my metformin and I started drinking regular pop.  And everything was going great, except that I had to urinate all of the time and I was thirsty a lot.  So I just started drinking more."

"You were drinking regular soft drinks?"

Clifford looked a little sheepish.  "Well, I was drinking a gallon of whole milk a day, too.  Anyway, my girlfriend thought some of my symptoms might have been related to my sugar going up and so I decided to check my sugar and it just read high."

At the Emergency Department, his sugar had been 764 -- much higher than it was supposed to be.

If "ignorance is bliss, tis folly to be wise."  Perhaps denial is simply the pursuit of ignorance despite all symptoms to the contrary.  Somehow, deep inside of us, there is a feeling that what we don't know can't hurt us -- at least very much.

Perhaps one of the things I can really do as a doctor, is to shine light on to the areas where folks really aren't very healthy and encourage them to do better -- sometimes with medication, sometimes with healthier lifestyle choices.

We have come to a time of year where we remember Jesus' birth. 

When John wrote about Jesus, he described Him as a light shining in the darkness.  Certainly there is plenty of darkness around us, but worse yet, is the darkness that is inside of us.  There are places inside that we don't want to look at, don't want anyone else to see and Jesus came to shine His light on them -- not to hold those areas up for ridicule, but to provide healing in a way that no one else could.

The easiest thing is to say that we don't need healing, that everything is fine.  There are a lot of other people in worse shape out there.  But beneath the surface, we all know that we aren't OK and people wouldn't accept us if they knew who we really are.

Jesus does know.  That's why He came to earth.  And if our sin is exceedingly dark, His light is infinitely more strong than it is.

What you don't know can hurt you and denial can certainly land you in the hospital.

Just ask Clifford.

A New Language

It is hard work to learn a new language.

It still remember when, at the age of eighteen, I landed in Guatemala City and disembarked from my plane to do six months of voluntary service work.  Looking at the signs and hearing people chattering away in an unfamiliar tongue was disconcerting.

I knew almost no Spanish at all.  I could ask people how they were, what was their name, or where the bathroom was, but odds were I would have absolutely no idea what they told me in response.  I had a Spanish-English Dictionary and a desire to learn.

I eventually did learn Spanish -- at least enough that I can get around pretty well in Central America.  I found in that time, that it takes a lot of practice to learn a new language.  In the beginning, you have to translate everything in your head into your native language and the reverse when you are speaking.  It is so easy to get lost two sentences into a conversation, because you are stuck on a word back somewhere in the first sentence.

Eventually, you stop translating and just start speaking the new language.  You think in it.  You even dream in it.

It seems to me, that Jesus came to earth to teach us a new language.

Prior to His ministry, the rule was an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.  Jesus came to teach us to love our enemies.

The language of love, as Jesus taught it, is a tough language to learn.  It involves seeing people in need and reaching out to them.  It involves giving until it hurts and then, giving some more until it stops hurting.

In the beginning, when we are learning the language of love, we have to translate everything into this language.  For me, it means asking the question, "How can I show love to this patient I'm seeing?"  The answer often translates into more time spent and more listening.

I can't say I'm very good at speaking this language.  I fall back all too easily into my old, self-centered behaviors, but with practice, it will come.

Jesus said:  "By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

It is hard work to learn another language, but anyone can do it, if they will only practice.