I spent the majority of this week “under the weather” both physically and emotionally. I learned first-hand what a “cyst” is. I also learned that sometimes they grow in the most inopportune places. Places the average person can’t even see. Now, my eye sight is fine. I’m just not that flexible.
After months of shirking the inevitable, I finally allowed my bride to schedule an appointment with the doctor. Why go to the doctor and let him poke around in places that…that you don’t just want anybody poking around? Because it hurts to sit. It hurts to stand. It hurts to lie down. It hurts to push the grocery cart when my bride goes shopping! (I think that was probably the broken straw that resulted in a prompt hospital call.)
10 a.m. Here I am. Staring at a cheap golf calendar while I sit alone in the doctor’s office. Trying desperately to keep my mind off of poking fingers. I should have just sucked it up like a man and pushed the grocery cart.
The door opens. “Hey, how are we doing today?” the doctor asks in a casual greeting. Do you think he notices that I’m shaking like a hypothermia victim who’s fighting for his life?
“Hey, I’m doing excellent! That’s why I spent all this money to come and sit in your office at such an early hour. Oh, and you want to see my boo-boo?” No, I don’t actually say this out loud. Instead, I smile and give him the lie to which I’m sure he’s well-accustomed: “Oh, I’m doing pretty good.”
“Well, let’s take a look at this bump of yours,” the doctor says to me in a nonchalant tone. That’s it; no small-chat? No getting to know each other just a little bit? Maybe it’s easier this way.
Deep breath. Nope, not any easier!
“Ummmm….I’d rather you not take a look…actually,” I say to myself. “How about I just describe it to you, and then you can talk me through how I can get rid of it all by myself.”
But the Doc seems oblivious to the internal battle exploding within my mind at the moment. “Just go ahead, and drop your drawers,” he says. Like it’s no big deal.
Hey everybody, here I am with my shorts draped around my ankles…just enjoying the morning with my doctor friend. Sure, pull up a chair. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I’ll just hop right over to this refrigerator down the hall and…
“Sir, could you please drop your drawers so I can check out this bump of yours? Excellent. Now where is it? Oh yeah, I feel it. Wow, that’s in a really sensitive place isn’t it? But I’m having trouble seeing it. Maybe if you could lie down on this grey bed contraption and curl up in the fetal position so I could get a better look at what we’re dealing with…”
Oh, I hate cysts.
I hate sin more. Actually, they have a lot in common: cysts and sin. Both affect my walk. Both affect my rest. Both need to be cut off. Both are beyond my ability to deal with on my own. I need a physician…before it gets worse and spreads to other parts of my body.
Both require humility before the healing. I had to expose myself before my doctor and allow him to poke around in private places in order to cut out this unwanted growth. All pride is gone when you’re lying on that little doctor’s bed in the fetal position! In the same way, sin can only be dealt with when we expose our hearts to Jesus and allow Him to “search us”.
In case you were thinking otherwise, it hurt having the cyst removed. Emotionally…and physically. So it is with sin. We can grow so attached to certain things that draw us away from Christ (spiritually unwanted growths) that it actually hurts to let Jesus cut them off of our hearts, and then the healing process often takes longer than we would like. Oh, but it’s so worth it in the end!
“Be Holy”, Jesus said. In other words, “Be totally cut off (separate) from the sin (unwanted growth) that hinders your walk with Me.” It took a doctor’s visit to remind me that humility is a constant prerequisite in my ongoing relationship with Christ. No, I don’t look forward to sitting in that waiting chair anytime soon. But healing is worth the price of humility every time.
