Susan: Nurse Kind or Captain Flash?
The Nerve Machine.
By Susan Shanklin
A couple of days ago, I went to a neurological clinic to assess nerves and muscles in both of my legs and feet.
My doctor had ordered it, and I complied. I wish I was always more compliant with the Lord’s orders as I am with the earthly doctor.
I Google the tests, and from the pictures, it doesn’t look all that bad, and pictures don’t hurt. Ha.
It’s a super early appointment, and they tell you to arrive 20 minutes early. We set the alarm, and when it rings, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and Tom is just lying there half asleep. Come on, dear, we have got to go, I think. Slowly, ever so slowly, we ramble to the car, and Tom navigates through back roads and city streets.
“I hope ‘she’ (Siri) knows where she is going,” Tom questions out loud.
I’m a little nervous, so this doesn’t help. I have got to be there 20 minutes early! “Goodness,” methinks, “what are they going to do to me.” Anyway, we pull into the parking lot on spot. Thank you, Tom.
We hurry to find the front doors and the office.
Not a single soul in the waiting room, only chatty staff.
I am summoned to the farthest window, and you know the drill—name, birth date, and who you will be seeing.
The admitting person is so curt, unwelcoming, and in such a big hurry, that you’d think the waiting room is jam-packed with patients!
She hands me some paperwork to complete, which is very short, and I return them to her, interrupting her chat with the other staff.
She states that they will come and get me when they are ready.
I sit down and glance at Tom every once in a while, and he is on his phone. The door swings open, and a lady in scrubs and a mask approaches us and says, “Susan.”
That’s me!
I can tell right away she emanates calm, assurance, and “you are in good hands.” Even though her lower face was covered, her eyes crinkled with a smile underneath.
“We are in number 18,” she says.
As we enter No: 18, she asks me if I know what she is going to do.
“No,” I reply.
With great tenderness and detail, she explains how she is going to zap my nerves with a jolt of electricity, and she will record just how much that zap made my leg jump. Thrilling!
All during the test, she remains calm and direct with assurance but with compassion.
When she was done, I thought, “That wasn’t sooo bad.”
Nurse Kind tells me the doctor will be in next to test my muscles.
As I wait, there is a sharp rap on the door, and the door swings open with a slight breeze. With one long stride, a thin, tall man with his face half covered whips past me flashing an ID badge.
“This is what I really look like.” Kind of impersonal with non-smiling eyes.
“Lie down, again,” he says.
“I’m going to stick very thin needles in your muscles and the machine will tell me how they react.”
Here is a stick. Here is a stick. Here is a stick. You get the drift, my friends.
“Ok, I’m done.”
Well, wait a minute Doc. Tell me something.
“I’ll look at it and send a report to your doctor.” Swish … he is gone.
When I get home, the experience is very fresh in my mind, and I continue to reflect on the experience and the two different styles of medical delivery.
I started to think about our delivery of the Gospel to total strangers.
Do I want to be like Nurse Kind or Captain Flash?
Do I listen to their concerns? Do I explain the process or just stick it to them?
Nurse Kind is like, “Did you know Jesus loves you very much and that His Father sent Jesus to earth to die for your sins?” Then with a jolt, “The wages of sin is death, you know.”
Nurse Kind continues with grace and then jolt. It ends with a very lovely experience and positive results.
OR I could present the Gospel like Captain Flash?
“Do you know Jesus? Well, if you don’t, you are going to the fiery pit and be tormented forever. Got it?”
Oh, my, methinks. How can I be more effective with your love, Lord? Show me, Lord, the way to this person’s heart so they can know your love.
Show me. Teach me to listen to YOU as I share the truth of YOUR word to bring them into the Kingdom.
I don’t want to just shove something down their throats and hope it reaches their hearts.
Show me, Lord, how to deliver the perfect healing balm for everyone I meet.
You, oh Lord, are the Healer and Life-Giver. Thank you for making me your Holy Ghost-trained person to care for the sick and lost.