Into the desert

Today marks the beginning of 40 Days For Life, a world-wide initiative to fast and pray and peacefully demonstrate for the end of abortion. I'll be honest, I've been remiss in the past, largely ignoring these events and just shooting up a couple of private prayers every time it came up. However, thanks to the myParish app (weird, but true), I found out about the opening Mass across from Planned Parenthood, said by our own Fr. Greg, and lo and behold, had the day off with no excuse to miss.

One thing Fr. Greg said that struck me was regarding the Israelites in exile, and how exile was a "severe but merciful" response from God to wake them up to the fact that they had already turned away from Him in their hearts. The exile was merely an outward manifestation of the inner truth, but it ultimately led to repentance and redemption as the Israelites were shocked out of their complacency and sin by physical suffering.

As we are also celebrating the Pope's visit to America and the World Meeting of Families, and in the midst of some of the most despairing times in terms of religious freedom and anti-Christianity/Catholicism, it would not surprise me if these 40 days signify an exile for our country as well. It's obvious that we could use a wake up call. That the hearts of our citizens are turned far from God's plan for us. That we are in dire need of "severe but merciful" action by our Creator.

It may not be pleasant. In fact, it's almost certainly not going to be. But in the cross is victory. He has conquered the grave and won the battle. We have only to turn to Him, to not be ashamed to wave His banner, to fight under His protection and not fear death. So I pray for the unborn, and I pray for our country. That we will wake up and recognize our pride and selfishness and realize our need for God, our need to become who He created us to be.

Looking back

The other day I was grabbing a quick bite at Wahoo's when my attention was drawn to a large gathering of (pretty loud) young adults. Not unruly, just festive. In the midst of them was a grandfatherly man with a very recognizable white mustache. Dr. French was my medical school pharmacology professor and powderpuff referee. Apparently 8 years later, he's still going strong, celebrating the first exam of the Neurology block with the students and his co-block director and co-referee Dr. Ojemann.

In a fit of rare extroversion, I said hi to the students and my former professors. (Yes, the profs did remember the only first-year team to ever beat the second years!) The students were jubilant with the prospect of an evening without studying (hence the volume of their gathering), and excited to meet an alum who survived. It brought back lots of memories and nostalgia--those of powderpuff were infinitely more positive than those of memorizing The Oje's neural pathways.

The profs commented that it must be nice to be done with schooling and residency and into my real doctor life. And how! Although I would do it again if given the chance, I'm extremely grateful to be done with that part of my life.

It's a rite of passage for sure, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Little lights of dinners out at the end of exams, sure, but also bigger lights of realizing why it is that you spent so long memorizing all of those details. The light when you use that knowledge to treat a patient, when you actually get to do what it is you trained so hard to be able to do.

And the light of still being able to play flag football. That, too.