Does Benny Hinn go to the Doctor?

She has long white hair tied back. Her skirt is handmade and long and flowy. She is here for her yearly GYN exam. I as the token med student of the hour review her history and medications with her. She tells me that 6 months ago she was slain in the spirit and Dr Jesus healed her gallstones. I smile warmly and nod. She then tells me since that time she has been off ALL her medications because Dr. Jesus is taking care all her needs. I gently discuss her medications and what they are for and the pros of taking them. I walk out of the room and try to figure out exactly what I am going to say to my resident as I present this patient. The resident is understanding and we manage to get through the rest of the exam without incident. I then walk the patient to the check-out desk and walk to a nearby counter to collect my notes.

All of the sudden I felt an arm around me I look up to my patient’s smiling face. She closes her eyes and proceeds to pray loudly to the point where everyone in the busy nurse’s station is now staring at the two of us. I stand there at a complete loss of what to do. Among the professional ethics scenarios I was never given any guidance on what one is to do when your patient tries to faith heal you. I find myself fighting embarrassment and annoyance. She prayed on and on it seemed (I don’t think it was particularly that long) about God healing the places where my legs had been broken and the spirit descending and such. Her AMEN brought a sigh of relief for me. I mumbled Thanks because well it seemed like the only polite response and then walked away (dare I say limp away) from the counter. I found myself oddly comforted by each bit crackling of my limbs, nothing happened.

I remember once in Belarus I was rolling along with my friend and translator Koia across a field on the way on to a home visit. When a beautiful Roma beggar with long dark hair and traditional gypsy clothing was walking in the opposite direction. She saw me and stopped and started rummaging in her purse and before I knew it she was thrusting Rubles into my lap. Koia explained…Americanka…and passed the money back to the beautiful Roma lady. She looked confused but reluctantly took the money and walked on. I sat there in shock at the realization I was living in culture where my people were lower than even the beggars. At the same time I was shocked by her compassion, as embarrassed and surprised as I was. I was shocked by her compassion when the world showed her so little. I was reminded of this experience after much reflection on my encounter with the faith healer.

Their compassion was misplaced. In the same way the beautiful Roma lady did not know that the woman in the wheelchair on the path was not a poor beggar but a rich American. The faith healer did not know that I have never questioned my wholeness before God that I found much beauty in my so called brokenness. And I realized the most remarkable thing. At bacculature I was asked to be the gospel reader I read the famous passage from Matthew 25 about how the righteous gave Christ food, clothles and shelter. And they ask when did was he hungry, naked etc? And he explains that whenever they served the poor and the outcasts they served him.

I do not pride myself in being one of the least of these nor do I truly consider myself one (that whole rich American thing) but I accept that I am easily confused as one. I think you can appreciate this passage no matter your religious background because it reveals something key about the way our world looks at others. The least of these are the people that everyone tries not to see in society. If you don’t look at them they don’t have to exist and you don’t have to feel guilty about their suffering. Yet you  never know who you are denying kindness and you never know when it will be you who is in need of it.

So even though I sincerely hope that no one tries to faith heal me (especially in the middle of clinic) me again any time soon I am convicted. Not to drop out of medical school and start a faith healing ministry but to notice the things that everyone tries to ignore. And yes to be tactful about acting on it. So I go and not royally embarrass the individual. At the same time I was convicted not to be so dam professional and polite that I miss moments to be compassionate, miss moments to remember my humanity.

and then

I found myself too caught up in the moment to be anxious about the fact that all that separated a not quite born baby from the floor was my hands. With the screams in my ears and my hands being guided by larger more experienced hands I was the first to hold the tiny baby girl as she came into the world. She came quickly and before I knew it she was in my arms and I was lifting up toward her Mom. It was surreal, it was euphoric, it was amazing. When I walked into the room there were 8 people, now there were nine. Even though I knew from a practical standpoint of course that this was going to happen, watching it happen, helping making it happen was far less of a practical moment and more of a spiritual one.

Its one of the most extraordinary moments of human existence. Its messy, smelly and bloody, so much in fact we wear big disposable blue boots. It can be dangerous, even deadly but its a journey that every person has been present for at least once. I have studied the details of the embryology and the physiology of pregnancy but as I held that baby girl I can’t help but stare in wonder at what didn’t even begin to exist nine months ago. What didn’t exist entirely 9 seconds ago….is now living, breathing and screaming.

And the first thing she ever knew was my big clumsy hand grasping her with all I had and clamping the cord with my other hand.

and then there she was on her own the world’s newest person.

and then I did it all over again two more times.

cherry obession

I was doing really well with the whole living in America, being a med student living in the now, being content till about 2 days ago. I was in the grocery store minding my own business and then from no where they appeared a bag of cherries. BIG RED CHERRIES…. Way back when I was a wee 19 year old kid full of idealism right after I stepped off of American soil for the first time I found myself surrounded by cherry trees ripe with cherries. I spent a good portion of the nicer days that summer picking cherries and taking them as gifts where ever I went. But there were this bag of cherries sitting ther ein the middle of the produce section next to the grapes looking forlorn and out of place. And I suddenly had a longing for a great big sticky handful of fresh Romanian cherries.

I’ve tried to substitute with American summer staples like ice cream sandwiches and Popsicles. I went swimming in a clean pool with other Americans. I went to the beach a few weeks ago and am going again. I wore a tank top and and read on my porch. I’ve savored air condition. But it just doesn’t feel right. I haven’t spent a summer in America in 4 years. I don’t know what to do with myself.

Today I hung out in the special needs eye clinic. You know you would think that I would love love love American health care with all its technology and solutions for these kids. It just also makes me all the more aware of how much my people in Eastern Europe suffer. Its as if I do not understand their nakedness entirely until I see the full beauty of clothes. The more clothes I encounter the more I am ashamed of their nakedness.

yeah I keep sort of deep down wondering if I will grow out the whole e. europe thing…like if this will be some sort of phase of my life that will fade out like that time I used to sing in the choir. but it seems to be here to stay, it seems to have taken hold in strange ways.

I think I shall make a cherry pie this weekend when i go home.

the not so sacred sacred moments

Why does the sacred have to be confined to places of worship? I recently realized my most sacred moments in life rarely happen in church. For example recently…

Holding the hand of a child as they fall asleep.

Watching my grandparents celebrate 50 years surrounded by their children and grandchildren. Listening to their stories and remembering the miracles of the past 50 years.

Singing and laughing tucked back in a grove of trees with the same folks as the sun sets.

For the first time, diagnosing a child (a 9 mon old) with cancer and hoping and grieving with her mother.

Waking up and finding this in my garden. I didn’t plant this. I have been so busy, I haven’t had time to weed….

Sitting on a stoop in hot, humid, sultry SC with old friends from the other side of the world. Laughing, talking and just simply enjoying the company of people interested in living beyond the America bubble.

Holding my very first well child check patient and watching her eat her first birthday cake. (no HIPPA in Romania mission clinic)

That’s whats up in my life. That and lot of studying for the surgery shelf (not really so sacred).

I am Here

I spend a lot of my life, more than I like to admit, right now wishing I could speed up or turn back time. I want optho to be over, I want my surgery rotation to end, I want medical school to move along so I can just do what I think I want to do with my life. Four months ago I just wanted to be done with class, then then the boards, then orientation. I day dream in a great deal of my precious free time, I dwaddle over pictures and blogs. I complain a lot. I am discontented and restless. I want the future or at least my vision of it or even the past sometimes wouldn’t be all bad. I would rather be where my sister is I say in college having a great time, working at camp for a summer. Or I would rather fast forward 10 years and be married with kids and doing child health work in some corner of the developing world. Any where but here, please God I find myself praying, Here Am I, send me…somewhere, please.

Today I tried to study for my surgery shelf which turned into a futile fight to focus on my textbook rather than the summer sunshine or my endless day dreams or journeys into nostalgia. I could barely sit still. I whined to myself about my inability to focus and then I whined about my whining. Then I had a thought in the mist of my whining. I found myself in the mist of the familiar near prayer of please send me somewhere and I found God whispering Here I Am, I am here. And I felt a great deal aware of the foolish, whimpy 6 old that I have been the last week or two.

Here is somewhere. and its the only time I will ever be here. Maybe its not my favorite place and maybe it never will be but its where I am. And its where God is because its where God wants me.