Thursday, September 16, 2010

A Voice from the Inside

Dear Mr. President:

During my shift in the Emergency Room last night, I had the pleasure of evaluating a patient whose smile revealed an expensive shiny gold tooth, whose body was adorned with a wide assortment of elaborate and costly tattoos, who wore a very expensive brand of tennis shoes and who chatted on a new cellular telephone equipped with a popular R&B ringtone.





While glancing over her patient chart, I happened to notice that her payer status was listed as "Medicaid"! During my examination of her, the patient informed me that she smokes more than one pack of cigarettes every day, eats only at fast-food take-outs, and somehow still has money to buy pretzels and beer. And, you and our Congress expect me to pay for this woman's health care? I contend that our nation's "health care crisis" is not the result of a shortage of quality hospitals, doctors or nurses. Rather, it is the result of a "crisis of culture" a culture in which it is perfectly acceptable to spend money on luxuries and vices while refusing to take care of one's self or, heaven forbid, purchase health insurance. It is a culture based in the irresponsible credo that "I can do whatever I want to because someone else will always take care of me". Once you fix this "culture crisis" that rewards irresponsibility and dependency, you'll be amazed at how quickly our nation's health care difficulties will disappear.



Respectfully,

ROGER STARNER JONES, MD

Monday, September 13, 2010

A Road Diverged--Wrecked

One side of my car looked perfect; the other side was pretty banged up.  You can see part of the other car's tail-light stuck in my door.  I'm still trying to figure out their angle when they hit us.



The car came around this corner on Hwy 20 in Canton.  If you look up on the shoulder, you can see my parents' car pulled over and my mom walking toward us.  This was almost exactly where the other car hit us . . . only when I stopped the car, I was in the oncoming lane trying to avoid a head-on collision with the silver CRV.

The lady took out the guard rail before ricocheting off it.  She said she was only going 50 around the curve.

I love you Car, but I'm not even sad about your bruises . . . because my Girls are ok.  I'm a little apalled that the lady said, "This is the second time I've gotten in a wreck in this vehicle!  My tires lost traction with the road" after something like this.  What if someone had been hurt??  Get new tires, slow down, or better yet, b.o.t.h., but don't act so nonchalant about nearly killing a bunch of people.  por favor.

Scary.  Miracle.  Adrenaline. 

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

I'm in Love with a Church

I grew up wearing gloves on Easter and sitting in a wooden pew ... sometimes padded.

I grew up learning about Jesus, Mary, and Joseph by way of artful felt-backed, strangely Caucasion flannel-board peeps.

I grew up sitting in "Adult" church alone while Mom taught Sunday School; Kel WENT to Sunday School; Dad stayed home. I heard about Solomon, who asked God for wisdom, and then biked around the neighborhood asking for wisdom and asking God what He meant that I should fear Him.  How could I love someone and fear them at the same time?  I decided to bury my favorite stuffed animal as a love offering to God!  Once a strange kid, always a strange kid.


And the pedulum swings.


Things changed in college when I decided gloves and skirts were as good as prison, and respect was more of an attitude than an attire.

Things changed in college when I learned about Grace, Wine, Music, Gambling, Cussing, and Freedom.

Things changed in college when I rolled my windows down on a rainy Missouri night and screamed at God, "If you're so powerful, how could YOU LET this HAPPEN?"  . . . and I had no fear.   And if there was love in my heart, I couldn't find it.


And the pendulum swings.

So, tonight I went to a church where I studied "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" in the red hymnal while waiting on a green fuzzy pew for everyone to gather in the chapel.

I heard Paul's words to the Romans and the "10 cents" of a humble preacher-man.

I went to a new church tonight.  I didn't count them, but I think 17-people, ranging in age from 35 to 75 shook my hand and called me by name (Hey, there's a first-timer sitting in the front by Terry.  Psst.  Her name is Aubrey.).  Seventeen.  My heart was so raw from all the love that I almost cried (Hey, there's a crazy woman sitting in the front by Terry.  Psst.  Her name is Aubrey.).  :P  I praised God in my heart because He is greater than the sunset and the sunny days he crafts, and yet, crazy enough that He keeps poking me in the ribs.  I'm here. I love you. I'm here. I love you. I'm here. I love you.



Redeemed and Redeeming.  Ying Yang Tick Tock.  Inhale Exhaaaaale.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Prayer of Saint Frank

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Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi


Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury,pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope;

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.





O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen