Kopp Disclosure
(John 3:19-21)
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Who would have
thought my annual physical would end up in an apocalyptic moment with the nurse
who just stuck a needle in me?
It happened on
April 30, 2015.
Confessionally,
while early, it may prove to be as transforming as my time with Eugene and my
covenant brothers back in October 2011.
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Let's set the
scene.
The Board of
Pensions of the PCUSA has become a total pain in the butt when it comes to
their so-called "Call to Health" incentives, requirements, blackmail,
and...
Simply, if we
wanna reduce medical deductibles, we've gotta jump through all kinda hoops and...
Guessing all
roads lead back to DC's Pennsylvania Avenue on this, it's just another example
of someone trying to control behaviors and dictate how we...
While everyone
has been nice to me when I've called Philadelphia to report my numbers and
other stuff so my financial manager aka wife doesn't scold me for not tapping
into the benefits, I find myself spending more and more and more time pushing
papers and satisfying bureaucrats and...
Catch the drift?
Anyway, I went
through the typical things that ya gotta go through during those
"preventive care" appointments.
I was reminded,
especially during the prostate exam, why doctors get paid so much.
Yuch!
But while we'll
wait to see what the blood suckers in the lab discover, I came out pretty
swell. All my pressures and pulses and beats were inspected and detected
to be that of a dude half my age. I think that's cool; but know that will
disappoint people who hate me in a Christian kinda way for spoiling their
coincidental-to-Christianity religion and exposing their idolatries while
wishing I'd fall off Return2 on Route 90 or get knocked off by my
Islamofascistnutball fans. Unless I fall off my pony or get assassinated
by the posers or demonic religionists or PCUSA and other mainlining
jingoists, I think I'm good for another two decades or so.
Really.
Sorry to
disappoint...
Everything was
going just peachy; until the MD said, "It's looks like you're due for pneumococcal
conjuggate vaccine. The nurse will be in shortly to administer it."
"That sounds
like needles," I joked to conceal me being a weenie when it comes to
shots.
I shouldn't have
joked.
He just left the
room and was replaced by a nurse with the needle.
O.K., I give
blood every six weeks.
Gotta.
If I have to
explain that to you, you wouldn't understand anyway.
I still loathe
pain; and needles cause pain.
But by the time
the nurse shot me up with whatever was in that needle at the doctor's
prescription, I didn't feel a thing.
Yeah, she was
probably good at it.
Buuuuuut it was something
much, much, much more.
It was a divine
appointment.
No doubt.
Apocalyptic.
The following
records, uh, what, uh, happened.
You interpret it
for yourself.
Like my time with
Eugene, I think I'll be interpreting/savoring/transforming for a long, long,
long time.
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She walked into
the room...and closed the door.
I said, "I
don't like pain."
She said, "I
would never hurt you."
I said, 'We'll
see."
She said,
"No, truly, I would never hurt you."
I said...nothing.
She looked at me,
eyeball to eyeball without blinking with disarming strength yet
sensitivity, and asked me to tell her about what I have hanging around my
neck.
I explained,
"Well, there's a cross with the seal of the denomination on it. I
got it when I was ordained. It has porcelain inlays that, like me,
have chipped over time."
She interrupted,
"You are doing better now."
"The other
cross," I continued after her judgment without asking how she could say
that without us knowing each other, "was made by a pastor who
died years ago."
She asked,
"What about the ring?"
"It's the
Lion of Judah," I replied.
She took it in
her hand while looking through my eyes into my spirit and urged,"Go
on."
Softly, yet
clearly, I said, "It's the Lion of Judah. Jesus. I wear it
because I have come to realize it's not enough for me to care for the wounded;
but also to do what I can to protect people from being wounded."
She smiled softly
yet with a strength that continued to disarm me; then asked, "Would you
like to see my tattoo?"
"Absolutely," I answered.
She rolled up her
right sleeve and I saw a beautiful tattoo with intricate weavings and symbols
and...
"This tattoo
symbolizes the pain of a mother...My 18 year old son committed suicide over 7
years ago...He was gay..."
She took her time
to explain each detail and each feeling and...
"I am very,
very, very sorry for your loss," I said.
"I know you
are," she said.
"If you
would rather not talk about it, I will understand," I inquired, "but
why did he commit suicide?"
She assured,
"We are here right now because He wants us to be here. God
called us together for this moment. I will tell you why my son committed
suicide. He was bullied and..."
It was a painful
recollection.
If it were not
for...His presence, it would have been unbearable.
"I am very,
very, very sorry for your loss."
She asked how I
feel about gays.
We talked of
God's invitational, welcoming, and inclusive love.
We talked of agape.
We talked
of...pain.
I felt hers...and
his.
"I am very,
very, very sorry for your loss."
"Tell
me," she pressed, "how do you
feel about gays?"
'Well," I
said, "I believe God loves gays no more nor no less than He loves anyone
else..."
We talked more
about God's...
"I am very,
very, very sorry for your loss," I repeated again...and again...and
again...and...
She smiled
again...and again...and again...and...
Then
she administered the shot.
I didn't feel it.
Strangely warmed
and uncommonly calm, I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience or
something.
She asked,
"Are you a hugger?"
Before I could
respond, we hugged.
Once more, I
said, "I am very, very, very sorry for your loss."
She said,
"That is what I needed to hear...and you needed to say."
She looked deeply
into me once more without a word.
My heart
felt...massaged.
There was a very,
very, very long pause - and one last eyeball to eyeball without blinking.
Warm.
Peaceful.
Convincing.
Convicting.
Heavenly.
Then she left.
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Blessings and Love!
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