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We were sitting at a small table in the cheap furniture section of the hospital employee dining room, my first chance to get to know her: a young, chief of in-patient psychiatry, mother of three small children, follower of Christ—me: an old guy, chief of oncology, 50 years married, grandfather of six, follower of Christ.

He spoke of the Lord often as we addressed his malignancy, acknowledging Jesus as the one he trusted with his health. But somehow, he sidetracked us into a conversation about his sexual exploits in ways that were natural to him but too graphic for me. I was somewhat perplexed by these two lines of conversation that seemed a bit oxymoronic.

I was visiting a patient in the rehab center who had undergone a knee replacement. He was fine except for the slow pace of rehab. His wife was there, vivacious, energetic, appearing far younger than her stated age, which I will not share. I asked her how they had met.

“We actually met in church,” she shared. “You know, I am older than he. When we started dating, he wouldn’t tell me how old he was. I called the church office to find out, but they wouldn’t tell me either. By the time I found out he was five years younger, I was already in love, and the rest is history.”

What difference does age make anyway?

Quite a bit, actually…

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your mind and with all your strength” (Mark 12:30, ESV).

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Matthew 6:33, NIV).

He spent a month with me as a fourth-year medical student, an Alaskan who loved the Lord.

Before we could even get to his chronic leukemia, he opened the conversation, “My father passed.”

As a physician, I was not shocked at my dear friend’s death, but I was surprised by the way I discovered it. It was clearly unexpected when I walked into his room.

Whatever the cause of the separation, God wants us back. He stands with open arms, running toward us, like the father of the prodigal. All it takes from us is surrender.

“People without our Lord believe the world belongs to them or to some unnamed, unapproachable power out there. They live reactive lives, responding to the actions of fickle circumstance—making plans, and changing them as the world changes around them, hoping to steal something good and meaningful from an Olympian-like god of Fate who has never existed and never cared.””

“I greeted him in church, a father who had lost his daughter abruptly to cancer. I could not help but put my arms around him and tell him how sorry I was. Six pews down, I was surprised to see a friend who had missed church for months due to a prolonged illness that had stumped the specialists. She shared, “Two weeks ago, five of our Bible Study class came over, laid hands on me and prayed for me. I have been improving ever since.””

I wish his statement was more true of me. One of our gospel’s major principles is that followers of Christ are called to give. It’s clear in the teachings of Jesus, “Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you” (Matthew 5:42, NIV).

I wish his statement was more true of me. One of our gospel’s major principles is that followers of Christ are called to give. It’s clear in the teachings of Jesus, “Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you” (Matthew 5:42, NIV).

I could tell he was more uncomfortable than usual by the way he was seated, leaning forward, head down. His malignant disorder was doing fine, but his body was racked with arthritis. The orthopedic specialist had given up on improving his chronic pain. 

My wife had put up with me for many years before I took her to Spain recently on our 50th wedding anniversary. Seville is an amazing town founded by the Phoenicians, developed by the Carthaginians and conquered by the Romans as a sea port in southern Spain before the river connecting it to the ocean silted out.

My wife had put up with me for many years before I took her to Spain recently on our 50th wedding anniversary. Seville is an amazing town founded by the Phoenicians, developed by the Carthaginians and conquered by the Romans as a sea port in southern Spain before the river connecting it to the ocean silted out.

I know God does not plan such a union of love for everyone. He has different and important plans for others with the freedom of singleness (1 Corinthians 7:7-8).

I know some of it is realizing that the child we love has a new connection with the God who may someday become the Lord of his or her life.

How does God’s goodness make us “more than conquerors” (Romans 8:37) when we suffer, whether we ask for the suffering or not?

Our faith should certainly impact our politics, but I’m not sure our politics should ever impact our faith. Certainly, politics impact faith for those who are persecuted around the world because of their faith, but that is not how it should be.

One of the young doctors I train is an amazingly good doctor and a person of faith. She had a discussion today with a patient who refused the medicine we offered, wanting to wait instead for God’s miracle.

A few weeks ago, he had come to me discouraged that his physical debilitation had taken away his ability to serve the Lord. Today was different. He began to share as I was transcribing his prescriptions.

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10b, NIV).

“I’m ready for you to let me go, Doc,” he said.

“You mean to heaven?” I asked.

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10b, NIV).

“I’m ready for you to let me go, Doc,” he said.

“You mean to heaven?” I asked.

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10b, NIV).

“I’m ready for you to let me go, Doc,” he said.

“You mean to heaven?” I asked.

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10b, NIV).

“I’m ready for you to let me go, Doc,” he said.

“You mean to heaven?” I asked.