What God Has Been
Teaching Me Lately Wounded Healer Middle age affords
some luxuries. The ability to make honest assessments and new choices
is
an opulence I am finding in my forties. I remember when I first felt
such
a deluxe empowerment. It began the morning I sat upon the paper-wrapped
examining table for my annual exam. I had sat on that table every
January for
the past six years, and each time, I felt the same chill and entertained
the
same thoughts. "I really don't like this doctor." Then I would
remind myself, "You don't need to like her; you just need to respect her
expertise." I argued back to myself, "She is cold and has no bedside
manner." "She doesn't have to be your best friend, just competent."
And so the conversation would go until it
would be interrupted by the phantom doctor I had been talking to myself
about. "Maybe this will be
the year she smiles", I thought. But by the dull, monotone sound of her
voice, I realized this wasn't the year for her smile. She began to
drone
through her usual questions about new meds I may be on and commenting on
weight, blood pressure and such. "She still hasn't looked up at me," I
thought. I knew she hadn't because her voice was drowning into the
rustling papers in her hands! She was obviously talking down to the
floor--probably just staring at her clipboard. Then the exam began.
I am certain she is a fine doctor, but truly, I have had better
interactions
with empty cardboard boxes! (And they're much cheaper.) She was
finished with
her exam within minutes. She asked, "Do you have any questions?" with a
tone of voice that suggested, "You better say no," and then ran out of
the room
before I had finished answering. As I dressed, I
thought, "I am 46 years old. I have gone to this doc for seven
years. I have never liked this doctor. I will never return." I felt
strangely empowered as I left the receptionist desk without an
appointment for
the following year. But then, the following year arrived and it was
time
for another doctor. I found a GP who could give me an annual physical,
and when she entered my examining room, she was effusive and warm. "I
like her," I thought. "She's more interesting than a cardboard box." She asked questions
while she made eye contact with me. I could tell she was not only
looking at me, but she was studying me. Her voice never fell flatly on
the ground and was not once swallowed by a clipboard! She listened,
took
her time, and even the room didn't feel so frigid! Then she told me
that
we were the same age and many of the changes I was experiencing, she
was,
too. "I really like her," I thought. When I told her I was
having trouble remembering like I used to, she could relate. When I
told
her I felt fuzzy-headed and more moody than I used to, she laughed
because she
was dealing with those things, too. "There's something that can help
with
your memory and moods," she said. "It's called...uh, um...it's
called...uh, um.... It's
a supplement.... You've heard of it.... What is it called? I forgot
what it's
called!" she exclaimed. Then she said,
"I'll be right back. Let me go look it up in the book in my office.
I know what it's called! I can't believe I can't remember!" As she
walked
out to her desk to confirm the name of a supplement, I laughed and
thought, "I
really like having a doctor who knows what it feels like to be me, but
is
capable of healing me!" I once read, "Only
that in you which is me can hear what I'm
saying." To me, that's empathy. And that's what I experienced with my
new
BFF doctor! I love having a doctor who can give more than sympathy or
expertise. This doctor was able to give empathy. There's something
very attractive and affirming about a physician who can empathize
because they
know what it's like to be sick, feel pain and age. Somehow, my doctor's
ability to identify with my maladies made me trust her even more. I
knew
she understood-I knew she cared. We have a Great
Physician who can offer us far more than
sympathy and expertise. We have a powerful, Great Physician
who can give
the sweetest gift--empathy. He knows, He cares and He can
heal. Jesus is our healer, our wounded healer. "He was
despised and forsaken of men. A
man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. ..." (Isaiah 53:3) Our Messiah bore our
grief and carried our sorrows. Jesus
was oppressed and afflicted. He was acquainted with grief. He
knew what it felt like. And He still
does. He has not forgotten what pain
feels like. Jesus is not the cold,
distant physician who won't make eye
contact with your questions and suffering. And He is not the detached
physician who hurries out of your pain. In His humanity, He chose to
patiently walk our roads, feel our pain and cry our tears. But in His
deity, He
is able to carry us over our difficult roads when we are just too weary
to walk
them alone. He bears and heals our pain, and He wipes away our
tears.
Well,
that's what's been percolating in me lately!
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