After being escorted to my private cubicle, a sixty-something nurse with gorgeous, swingy, red hair recorded my health history on a complicated computer program. She typed on 15 different screens while simultaneously conversing with me. “Colonoscopy prep is rough,” she said, “but today you’ll have a better day. Think of it as your spa day.”
She wrapped one wrist with an ID band and put an IV in the other. When she asked if I’d finished drinking the liquid prescribed for the evening before, I was able to say yes, to which she said, “Good! You’ll absolutely sparkle in there.”
Becoming chilly in my thin hospital gown, I asked for a blanket. She walked to a stainless steel refrigerator that looked like it belonged in a designer kitchen, opened the “freezer” section, and grabbed a pile of hot flannel. Spa-time had begun. When the first blanket cooled, she brought me a second.
After checking blood pressure (98/65), temp (97.3) and pulse (71), I was wheeled to my colonoscopy destination. The doctor introduced himself and rattled off a description of the procedure, ending with, “Any questions?”
“How many colonoscopies have you done?” I said.
“I stopped counting at 3000,” he said. “As soon as you turn on your left side, we’ve got your good-time-drugs ready.” (Spa-lingo, for sure.) Quickly after that, through a happy haze, I saw my innards fly by on the TV as if I was riding the “tube” in London’s underground.
In a look-back analysis of the day, it struck me how willingly I’d abandoned myself to medical personnel I hadn’t met before. They “seemed” competent (15 screens, 3000+ procedures), but that’s all I knew. The question is, do I just as readily abandon myself to God?
My actions often say, “Lord, I can handle this problem better than you, but I’ll let you know if I need you.” That’s the opposite of abandoning myself, even though he’s the all-powerful expert in every field, the only one with the answer to every dilemma.
Although God probably wouldn’t have come to earth to perform my colonoscopy, he put together my whole gastrointestinal system in the first place, so no one knows more about it than he does. He also designed my heart, soul and mind, which is why I should eagerly abandon myself to his sovereign care in those categories, just as I put my physical care in the hands of medical personnel today.
God may not physically walk a hospital’s halls each day, but today I learned one way he does show up there: by bringing new babies into the world. At this hospital every birth is announced with a music-box version of Brahms Lullaby over the “spa” speakers. And today I heard that lovely tune 5 times.
“I waited. God looked. He listened. He lifted me. He taught me. People see this, abandoning themselves to God.” (parts of Psalm 40:1-3 The Message)