Moving On

It's time for my annual physical. Actually, it is past time, but why do today what can be put off till tomorrow? (Especially when what has to be done includes the drawing of blood!)

So, there I was at 7:00 this morning in the lab of the hospital with this really nice lady looking down her nose at my blood draw order muttering out loud, "Well, you put this off as long as you could." What did she want me to say? Something like, 'Well, you know, I am a man' or 'I would have put it off longer had I known how put out you would be' or even, 'Had it not been for my doctor requiring it, I would have waited for the mortician to handle it'? But, no, Christian that I am and guilty as charged, I simply relied on the obvious, "Have you been talking with my wife? Because she said the same thing to me just the other day.", which brought a smile to her face and prompted her to say, "When it comes to dealing with men, we women all work from the same handbook . . . . and you will never get a copy of it!" Great retort, ice broken, tension defused, guilt assuaged, and nerves relaxed.

I really do not like having blood drawn and, I think, with good reason: Several years ago, while giving blood at a Red Cross event, the nurse tending to me groused a bit about how slowly I was pumping blood into the bag so, to increase the rate of flow, she adjusted the needle in my arm, not once, not twice, but three times. After the last time, I asked her to take the needle out of my arm, moved to the snack table and promptly passed out. Do you have any idea how much chewing gum is stuck to the bottom side of most serving tables? A lot! And that was the first thing which registered in my mind as I came to.

The nurse was really nice about it at this point. Not wanting to have any culpability in what had just transpired, she suggested that maybe I would be better served at the next blood drive to make sandwiches instead of give blood. Thus, my dilemma with any kind of a blood draw . . . I immediately go to the refrigerator for solace to calm my mounting nerves, wanting to prepare a sandwich rather than contemplate researching the amount of chewing gum on the bottom of tables. Is it any wonder that I wait as long as I can to have a physical?

Ah, but isn't this what we do to God all the time? God offers us peace in relationship, extends healing in our broken living, redeems life from death, and all that we can think about is the hurt we experienced one time or another at the hands of one of God's 'helpers'. We allow a bad experience in one worship setting to become the excuse for not becoming a part of any worship family. In harboring resentment towards another person, our spiritual well-being and our relationship with God falls victim to neglect. And the biggest loser? Ourselves, for we have abdicated responsibility for our life, our health and our love in God to the hands of another, which is way too sad.

Those who really know me and know my story lovingly cajole me about being a woosie when it comes to giving blood. Maybe they are right. All that I know is that, if I stop and think about it, I can still remember the feeling of that needle being moved around in my arm and the subsequent aftermath. I can still remember . . . .

The lady who drew my blood today was a pro. I never felt a thing, not even a sting. Perhaps it's time to start forming new memories and stop allowing the past to hold me and my health hostage. Perhaps it's time to live the present moment with the confidence of one not bound by the behaviors of others. How about you?