I believe in the One True God

I sometimes have a hard time expressing myself, although the ladies that I used to sit beside of at work will have a hard time confirming that....

But some stories defy reasonable explanation, and this is one. I'm not sure I can do it justice yet.

My first day at the James, my first appointment was with my surgeon. It was a difficult appointment to begin the day with, but more difficult in that we didn't quite "get" each other. I have worked with doctors a lot of my working life - and to be honest, I don't care if a surgeon talks like brown corrugated cardboard, as long as he is deft with a scalpel blade - I like him.

I also "read" medical folks pretty well and part of my issue with him was that I couldn't "read" him - mostly because the whole time he examined me and talked to me his eyes were like 98% closed. He looked at me when talking to me - but wasn't looking at me - I.couldn't.see.his.eyes.....

That worried me.

He seemed to me the type of doctor that talks as if he has been spanked in a courtroom and will never ever give the help and concern that he once gave and was bit in the butt by it. Or maybe he could not stand to look into that many eyes, that many hours, every day and give dreadful news. I don't know. I couldn't read him....

So he gave me a full 14 minute education on my options for surgery - and please remember I didn't even have a proper diagnosis in hand yet - and then curtly asked me what I wanted to do.

I asked him "what do you suggest?". He answered, eyelids down, "I can't answer that - these are your options - what do you want to do?"

I told him I understood he went to school for 7 years, interned for probably 1-3 years in this specialty field, and then has practiced on his own for several years; that he sees this everyday and I felt like a moron trying to buy a car that I know nothing about except where to put in the gasoline. I then pleaded with him again, "with all of your experience, what do you suggest?"

He took a full on stand in front of me, crossed his arms and stated again "I can't answer that for you. You have to choose."

I was irritated. I was agitated. I almost thought about getting up off the table and walking out to the desk and requesting the next available surgeon.

A 14 minute explanation makes me a sudden expert in all things surgical-cancer......

I was aghast. I looked at Scott, he shrugged, somewhat surprised. I looked at his very nice Nurse Practitioner. She looked at the floor not wanting to give me the merest notion of a hint.

I looked up and*prayed*to God-almighty. Most notably "The God of my strength". El Sali. God of my Rock (Psalm 42:9) I looked up at the brand new paneled ceiling in this brand new exam room and tried to think fast what to do and all I could do in my agitation was 'cry out to God'.

And I did.

Then, then.

There were white wings all over the ceiling. White fluffy feathery wings. Really white. Not the whole wing - just partial but it was all over the ceiling. I felt a motion to lean back - and I leaned back a little, sitting half naked on that lonely, scary exam table and *something* was holding me, hiding me. And I looked, and still there were white wings.

I knew they were the wings of God.

Then I was back in the moment and I told him "option 2". He said "good, good choice" and abruptly exited the room.

I asked his Nurse Practitioner who was left in the room to apparently clean up all agitated-messiness-leftovers - and who I am pretty sure was coupled with him to be the *interpreting* ying to his non-verbal yang - if he actually did the surgery with his eyes opened and she laughed and said yes. She assured me I had the best surgeon in the house and that all of the staff sent their loved ones to him. I felt better about the choice.

I don't know that Dr. Closed-Eye-Surgeon and I will be friends, but the woman doing my EKG that day told me that his scars are so minimal you can hardly see them. And she said she sees them all. In fact, every time each person I met with that day asked me who my surgeon was, and I told them Dr. P., they just shook their heads and laughed and said "you got lucky".

So I puzzled over the wings for a couple of days. I have been following a couple of rabbis this year past, and they are fascinating, and no I am not turning Jewish (at least not yet anyways, wink, wink) but I love hearing their take on the Bible. One especially intriguing fellow who was a pastor that went to rabbinic school in Israel is refreshingly engaging. I have listened to his CDs over and over and over in my car and should have them memorized, but they are so full of good stuff it's too much for my poor 50 year old brain cells to retain at times... It's all from a different angle, and all so darned interesting. And so Biblical I might add.....

Finally, a few days later I started rummaging through my maybe 20 some CDs I have of his to find what I had dinging in the back of my brain. He explains, and I can never retell it like he does - so here goes nothing - but he explains in our English Bibles that we are told the woman seeking healing from Jesus touched the "hem" of his robe and was healed. We Americans just think it was because it was Jesus - zip-bam-boom touch Him and you are healed. Maybe so. But remember, He knew something was different, something was up and He turned and asked about it - to reward her faith.

That is a loaded story and a bit of a misinterpretation in our modern english versions. Finding the Jewish slant on this is a whole lot of things I was never taught in Sunday School.

RVL was talking about how little we know our Bibles and how much most Jewish people did at that time. The woman who wanted to touch Jesus' robe knew exactly where she needed to touch - the "corners" of Jesus' robe or "the tassels of His tallit" - she knew exactly what she was doing - she knew her Bible. She knew the passage in Malachi 4:2 "But for you who revere My name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in His wings". You see when a priest raises his hands to bless the people, the shape of the robe and the tassels of the tallit - well they look like wings. And the Jewish people understood the verse to mean just that - that there were healing in His - Priest-Rabbi-Jesus' - wings. That's why she wanted to touch his robe - not just any anyplace she could grab, but the tassels of His tallit - she knew her Bible.

And I might add she knew it a heck of a lot better than this educated, modern, computer-savvy (well a little anyways) literature loving, Bible-reading, sat-in-churches-for-endlessly-long-times American woman does.....

They knew their Bible. I don't. I love it, I read it all, but if Jesus came walking into Cinnamon Lake, I would probably have to think about it, then go rummage through a pile of CDs, listen to the teaching again - then, THEN I would run and grab the tassel of His tallit. I am a slow learner, this Amercian who calls herself Christian here......

I had to think for two days about it before the remembrance came back.

I'm holding onto that vision. I am a skeptic at heart, but I know what I know what I know, and I know that God's wings were over me in that room that day and I was leaning on Him.

I know I felt His hand steady me, I know He hid me in his robe, like a child, while I was leaning back into Him. I know I was under His wings. And I know I do not know the full import of that, but that's ok. I was met by a powerful God - the same God that led the Israelite's out from Egypt in a powerful way - the Jews say with His little finger He can do such things - but He did not show me His little finger, He showed me His wings.

I'm glad I had done the study. He is a God who sees and a God that saw me afraid, and weak and naked and alone and cold and scared. And He wrapped me in His robe and hid me and touched me. And showed me His wings.

We serve an awesome God.

One rabbi says it this way: It is interesting that all through the Old Testament, the Hebrew word for wings in most passages is kanaf when referring to God. Surely, the place of refuge is under the kanaf of the Lord, i.e., under His Word and His authority!

That's where I plan to stay through all of this. I may waver, I might shiver, but I plan to stay under His kanaf. And He is bringing me to this stand-still knowledge - that I cannot do this alone. I need my *community*, His people, to help me cling there.