Our last day of clinic. One more day to show up with love, with gratitude. One more day to lead with heart, to shine our lights, to connect—doctors to patients, humans to humans.
Bob shared a devotional this morning that guided us through the day:
A Prayer of Oscar Romero
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.
Nothing we do is complete,
which is a way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything,
and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results,
but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders;
ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future that is not our own.
The old expression of working like a well-oiled machine shined today when Team Wells managed a patient and his family. Four doctors heard his story and worked together, bringing exceptional care to help a young man and his mom.
Sergio, a 21-year-old, walked in the clinic on weak legs. His mom and cousin spotted a wheelchair near the entrance and borrowed it for him.
He’d had viral meningitis with seizures a month ago and was hospitalized for eight days. He experienced partial paralysis, leaving his body weak, struggling to walk. He’s been anxious and depressed.
Before his illness, he was a highly functioning man, a mechanic, an athlete, a soccer player. He showed Dr. Nancy a picture of himself from before: vital, strong, smiling. He was the star of his family.
The change is dramatic: he arrived weak, anxious, and depressed. He felt like he had no life left to live.
Add his family to the mix. His mom is all alone. No husband. Her mother died two months ago. Two sons were murdered; another is in jail. Sergio is the only person she has left. He’s afraid he’ll get sick again. Mom’s afraid to lose him too which leads to treating him like a chronically ill person, coddling rather than encouraging him to heal.
Dr. Nancy advised him: “You know cars. When the tires and low, you fill them. When the oil is tired, you replace it. Think of yourself as a car. You can be your own mechanic.” As he listened and nodded, she went on: “You’ll get better. You have to work at it.” She told him to walk every day, do gentle arm exercises. She encouraged him to focus on the positives: his girlfriend, exercise, possibly going back to the garage where he worked and watching the other mechanics. She encouraged his mom to focus on his healing rather than catering to his past illness.
His mom and cousin wheeled him in. After seeing doctors and being counseled by Dr. Nancy, he was out of the wheelchair. He gave a big thumbs up before he left. You could see him smiling behind his mask. Vitamins, Tylenol and Prozac in his pockets. Hope in his heart. His mom told Dr. Mike, “Bless you. God sent you to help us.”
All who talked with Sergio and his mother were deeply affected, and yet we wiped tears, breathed deeply, and continued to care for others. All our hearts stretched a little bigger.
-Annie Gudger
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