WORDCHASM

Pardon my blasphemy.– JG

Hi.

No, you’re not disturbing me at all. I always have time for you. In fact, I’m glad to hear from you… it seems to be kind of rare these days. I know you’re busy. I keep pretty busy myself, as you might guess. I’m happy whenever you take time out to talk with me… I’m here for you.

I’ve just been working on some furniture. It was a cabinet I once saw Norm Abrams making on the Old Yankee Workshop show. Surprised? Why? I worked in carpentry for years while I was living among you all. It was good, honest work.

I came there, in what would now be jeans, a t-shirt, and boots, to see how it was for you to live in the working class. I am not into the flashy, royal, silver-spoon-and-limousine treatment. That’s garish.

If I were to sit down on the steps of a big, shiny televangelist’s church altar “set,” during a live broadcast, would you let me stay? Would you listen to me, or would you have burly deacons escort me out before I could share with you?

I would say that the trappings don’t matter… and if you want to know the simplest way to follow the Way, it’s this:

1. Love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.

2. Be excellent to each other.

Yes, Bill S. Preston, Esquire and Ted “Theodore” Logan consolidated “Love your neighbor as you love yourself” into the real essence of what I meant.

One of the greatest followers of the Way, who never called himself Christian, was Mohandas Gandhi. He really got it. Check him out as an example of how to do this gift of life you’ve received.

You know, while I’m thinking of it, I did want to say something about you calling my name, or Dad’s, as an exclamation. We’re both looking forward to hearing from you, and when you use our names to express anger, but don’t ask us to help you with your frustration, it’s pretty disappointing.

Think of someone shouting your name out, like they need you to rush to their aid, and then they bat you away as soon as you respond. Frustrating.

And speaking in that way, please stop being haughty, smug, and sanctimonious. No one likes that… least of all me. I want you all to enjoy life harmoniously. I don’t ask everyone to believe in me, but I do ask my believers to be as considerate to everyone else as they expect to be considered.

I do forgive you when you ask it of me. But please don’t take my concept in vain. Those who cause great wars against your fellow travelers, for oil or strategic military placement against other nations– nations with a hard-core underground of dear friends who call themselves Christians also– and do so in my name– aren’t following the Way. This goes for your cousins, too, who call out to Mohammed as their prophet.

I weep.

“Now, I believe that Jesus Christ is my personal God and Savior, but there’s something strange going on with the weather.”

He stood against the brick, outer wall of the walk-in clinic, wearing fake Oakley sunglasses and a sporty polo shirt tucked into bright red basketball shorts. The accompanying red and white sneakers completed his “am I an assistant high school basketball coach?” wardrobe. His beginner’s beer belly confirmed this as he rubbed his goatee with concern.

“It’s just crazy.” He paced around with the monologue apparently continuing inside his head for the moment.

“Yeah, but the TV news and internet make it seem that way. Weather’s always been unpredictable,” said the woman behind me.

The others in line chimed in now — nodding their sentiments as we all waited for the clinic to open.

He started up again.

“I’ve been an administrator at a Christian school for over five years. We ain’t never seen nothin’ like this. Flooding everywhere. People just tryin’ to get out.”

The line compacted and shuffled closer to the sliding doors. A nurse stood just in sight, dutifully unlocking as the clock struck 1:00.

First in line, I received my new patient paperwork and settled into a waiting room chair. It was quick, repetitive work and I handed it back two minutes later. By then, it seemed I was third on the list. My chest pains were not deemed as crucial as the looming, sweating obesity of those around me. Gads, they could have croaked at any moment.

“Mr. Koop, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Chest pain.”

“I see. Now, is it stabbing, throbbing, or pressure?”

“Feels like someone is sitting on my chest. Sometimes, at night, it…”

“I see. Good. Now let’s get that shirt off. We’ll fix you up for an EKG.”

“It gets worse when I try to sleep. Also, I’ve been stressed. Do you think…”

“Just lay down right here and…”

I removed my shirt quickly and climbed carefully onto the sanitary paper patient pad. She began lubing me up for the suction cups.

“When I breathe in it feels like…”

“Now, we’ve reached the portion of the test where you shouldn’t talk. What’s the name of your insurance company?”

“Anthem. One time the doctor told me…”

“Please, don’t speak. The test.”

She pointed to the electrodes on my chest. A minute later she removed them and said,”You can put your shirt back on — the doctor will be with you shortly.”

True enough, she was in shortly. If nothing else, this care was prompt. I rambled through my disjointed list of symptoms and she stared at me somewhat sympathetically–the look you might give a dog struggling with a cone around its neck.

“Pleurisy. Take two Aleve, twice a day. Unless you want a prescription for something stronger.”

“Aleve works for me. Can I still drink coffee. Run?”

“I don’t see why not. Just take it easy.”

She left the room quickly, scrawling onto her medical clipboard all the while. I poked my head into her tiny office.

“So I can…”

“Yeah, you can just go. No need to check out.”

I breathed a little easier as I headed for the door. Alas, it was locked and I stood befuddled.

“Mr. Koop?” called the Nurse Ratched clone at the front desk. “I’m going to need your co-pay.”

Thirty-five dollars later I felt some measure of relief. Not dying today…I thought.