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Killing is most dangerous when it is easy to accomplish. Just like crushing a roach and/or poisoning a rat I can do it without remorse.

Killing becomes easy when I don’t have to look the victim in the eye it becomes and I can rejoice at killing when it is easy to do.

It is easy to kill someone with whom I have no relationship or even worse someone whom I despise.

Those are easy targets. I don’t have to explain to anyone why I killed them because after all they were in the way of our agenda.

My judgment gets clouded on an easy kill. The decision comes with little heavy thinking.

A decision that is popular and provides me with applause. That is an easy kill.

Be careful that we don’t make killing a habit. Easy kills become an easy habit. It is even worse when we do it thinking that we are pleasing God in the process. God does not delight in death, no matter how wicked we may believe they are.

Say unto them, As I live, saith the Lord God , I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die, O house of Israel?
Ezekiel 33:11 KJV

I woke up this morning and read
Feel safer now that he’s dead
Feel safe in the malls
In school classrooms and halls
That’s right, there is nothing to dread

But somehow this doesn’t ring true
Not quit sure what I should do
Stay home behind curtains
Till I can be quite certain
He is not pursuing me, he wants you

Of course there’s no cause for alarm
Only certain people mean us real harm
They dress in odd fashion
Have religions with passion
We can strike them before they rearm

The problem with this kind of plan
It puts a never ending demand
If we are to survive
We must keep hate alive
And destroy him to the last man

There is the alternative way
But for that all men must obey
If we all want to live
We must learn to forgive
We will give account on the last day

Matthew 26:52 For all that take the sword shall perish by the sword

If we kill enough people, we win. That’s the premise behind conflict. If we can kill enough of them before they kill enough of us we will have victory. We can celebrate. We will have heroes. They will have to submit to our thinking, way of life and even worship gods we worship. Our victory will come at a price of the loss of many whom we love. But it will be worth it. Winning is all that matters.

The problem with this line of thinking is that no one truly wins. Yes, indeed someone will submit to someone else. One civilization will conquer another. One people will reign supreme over another. One ethnic group will oppress, exploit, degrade and even enslave those whom they see as inferior. However, both lose.

Because we reflect the image of our Creator and are the highest order of His creation, true victory only comes in reaffirming our fellow creatures. To destroy someone else’s property and treasure is a crime not against humanity but against God. To kill is to destroy God’s property.

Killing enough people sets about an endless cycle of bloodletting. If we can destroy enough of them we believe that our own value is increased. If only they would act like us, look like us we would not have to kill them.

We allow ourselves to become ugly monsters so that we can suppress the sinful humans that we are. We become monsters for a moment.

As monsters when we kill an error we say ‘ooopps’. When they retaliate we say; ‘shame on you.’

You can’t kill enough people. You can’t win. We cannot please God by killing his highest order of creation no matter what the cause. No matter how noble the endeavor killing enough people will never satisfy or allow us to win. We will ultimately turn our swords on ourselves because after all, if I don’t value them, I don’t value myself. We were all made in His image.

Matthew 26:52New International Version (NIV)
52 “Put your sword back in its place,” Jesus said to him, “for all who draw the sword will die by the sword.

He paced the floor. It was clear he was angry. He muttered to himself.

‘How could he betray me like this? After all I have done for him over these years. He is an ungrateful, selfish SOB’

I tried to avoid his gaze, but he noticed me as I walked by.

‘Doctor, please doctor, can you tell me what is the diagnosis? Is my boyfriend pregnant?’

I took a step back. It is wonderful that we have the HIPPA laws that prohibit me from sharing confidential information. I resorted to what is legal.

“No sir, I am sorry, I can’t divulge that information. Your boyfriend will have to do that if he so chooses.”

Having no obligation to explain further, I hurriedly stepped away and went to the lab to find the results of the pregnancy test. I knew the results would not be in yet, as I had only ordered them five minutes ago. However, it gave me time and space to regroup, rethink and calm down so that I could try to understand the complexities of this patient encounter.

I was born and trained in an era where boys were boys and girls were girls. I still have problems finding a place in my brain to store this new data. How do I do so in a way that recognizes the accepted science (things like X and Y chromosomes) and the accepted social norms (things like LGBTQ)? And how to do this in a way that is not judgmental yet accurate and compassionate. I stood in the break room for a minute, gathering my thoughts before heading back to see the possibly pregnant man.

My patient looked every bit like a man. His face, chest, back, arms and legs were full of hair. His stature was slim and his voice sounded tenor. If it were not for the name, Leslie, but then again, I have seen that name with men and women, so, who am I to judge.

I wondered if I did a pelvic exam, would would I likely find a prostate. (XX XY LGBTQ). This is confusing.

Leslie explained to me; “Dr. Johnson, I am transitioning from female to male, but I had an intimate relationship with man and I don’t want my boyfriend to know. He did not use a condom and I don’t know if I have a sexually transmitted disease. I also need to know if I am pregnant I would like to get an abortion. Can you help me please?”

This is what some philosophers would describe as an enigma, in a puzzle inside of a riddle. King Solomon’s head would swoon.

“Well Leslie, I went on to explain, let us deal with the issue at hand of how to provide for your health care and I will have to refer you on to someone else who can manage the other questions. For now, lets make sure your blood count is okay and your blood pressure is managed well.”

With those distinct parameters I was able to escape this room with my professional integrity intact and without moralizing or sermonizing about what I perceived as the evils of this present generation.

It turns out, he is pregnant. Try cutting that baby in half King Solomon.

Lord make me rich
In the year Twenty Twenty
Where I have but little
Lord please give me plenty

The wealth of great mercy
Treasures of unlimited love
Rich with forgiveness
Like yours from above

Lord help me set
A most sumptuous table
Giving generously to
Those who are less able

Lord let me dress
In the most fabulous fashion
Clothe me with garments
Of your grace and compassion

Lord give me only
Things of great price
I want others to see
The wealth found in Christ

1 Timothy 6:17-18
Charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not highminded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy That they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute

And inquiring child
Asked his father one day
Father what would you think
If I went astray?

If I wasted my blessings
Resources you gave I squandered
Places unknown and unsafe
Getting lost as I wandered

If I did things that were evil
Things that only cause shame
To your good reputation
If I spoiled your name

Would it bother or hurt you?
Disturb your peace of mind
Would you forget me, your child?
For all I did so unkind

His Father took only an instant
Not a moments delay
You are My dear child
Even when you do stray

And as any good father
Would do for his own
I would search the whole world
I would never leave you alone

For all My children do wander
And all My children do sin
But because I AM the good Father
I welcome them home once again

Luke 15:18-20

Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’ 20 So he got up and went to his father.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

How long will it take this man to get in the room? He is already 20 minutes late for his appointment. If it were not for all his paraphernalia including, his walker, shopping bags and seemingly endless layer of clothing this clinical encounter could be at least halfway finished. And now he is finally in the room. It takes another 2 minutes to sit down. Much of this time is taken to remove the coat, jackets and shirts. This layered clothing is necessary for these cold winter months. Each layer removed allows the emanation of increasingly pungent body odor. He has not bathed for days or even weeks. Because of patient confidentiality I have to close the door and I am trapped with seemingly visible vapors. I must make this encounter is brief as possible.

Mr. PJ ‘I exclaim with forced smile and enthusiasm. It is so good to see you. I am glad you were able to keep your appointment. We have not seen you and several months. I was beginning to worry about you.’

Mr. PJ remains silent. He has a worried look on his face. This is part of his natural demeanor. Sleeping on the streets this time of year takes away any pretense of being comfortable. He wears most of his collection of garments because he cannot trust the boarding houses to keep these precious items from being stolen. He only goes there at night when it is too cold to lay on the vents on the street and too late to beg. He is only here this late morning because he wants to show me something.

‘Dr. Johnson’, he begins ‘I had a very difficult time making it here today. I am having a lot of trouble walking lately because of some sores on the bottom of my feet.’

He then begins to remove his boots. They appear quite heavy and are laced up to mid-calf. It seems an interminable amount of time. Each boot is covering layers of dirty socks which cover dirty, smelly feet. Time drags on. The odor is now palpable and I move forward to open the door I must have some fresh air. He stops me.

‘Dr. Johnson, don’t you want to see?’

With that he displays the warts on the bottom of his feet. I must hide my revulsion and take time to visually as well as manually inspect his feet. I don a pair of latex gloves and turn on the bright overhead lamp. I recognize it has been a struggle for him to come to see me. I must be patient enough to overcome my own struggle so that I may pretend to thoroughly examine. This Dr. must learn to be patient.

‘Oh yes I see Mr. PJ.’ I have come to a clinical decision in less than 10 seconds. ‘We will have to find a way to clean your feet here today and apply some ointments. You also need some clean socks. How long have you had these boots?’

‘Dr. Johnson, he replies, ‘these are my favorite boots because they keep my feet warm even when they get wet. I don’t have any place to wash my feet and I don’t have any money to buy new socks. How can you help?

I happen to have in my car several pairs of new socks which I purchased just for such an occasion. I usually hand them out of my car window at the intersection where people like Mr. PJ gather to beg. But I have no answers as to how to keep his feet clean and of course what will be doing about these sweaty dirty boots. A cursory wipe with a moist clean towel and the application of moisturizer is all I can afford right now. I give him the socks and advise him to return as soon as possible that I may inspect his feet again. He needs to see a podiatrist to provide definitive care for his plantar warts. However, he doesn’t have the money for transport, and I don’t have the patience to untangle the web of socio-economic determinants which prevent him from getting proper care. I am not that patient.

The word ‘patient’ has its origin in Latin. It means “quality of being willing to bear adversity, calm endurance of misfortune and suffering”. These are the very things I avoid. As a busy doctor in a busy office the last thing I want to do is be patient. I would rather Mr. PJ be the patient. I would rather him bear adversity, the endurance of misfortune and suffer. That is his role not mine. But to be truthful if I am to be a good doctor, I must learn to be a good patient. I must begin to understand the suffering, the challenges, weaknesses and even bear the smells.

Jesus the Christ was the perfect patient. He was the great healer. He understood suffering. If I am to be the healer He wants me to be, I must make it my goal to listen to even if I cannot fully appreciate the misfortunes of the many Mr. PJs that come to my office. To be a good doctor is to be a good patient. Learn to suffer as Jesus did.

Romans 8:17 KJV and if children, heirs also, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him.

It gets repetitive and dull. My first patient Ms. B complains of yet another self inflicted emotional and physical wound. The physical wound is the infected heroin injection site. I don’t have time to address the emotional wound. Mr. V is waiting.

Mr. V is bi-sexual. He, sometimes she or they, feels persistent societal and cultural biases which only worsen his, her, their attempt at keeping appointments and taking medicines on time. Add to that, all of them lack financial resources and feel unsafe at home. Their grandkids abuse them, taking advantage of their kindness and using the home as a place to host drinking, smoking and drug parties. It is an unsafe environment. This a toxic mix which is smothering them, and right now choking me.

I want to quit listening. I don’t even want to complete a thorough physical examination or discuss the implications of the multiple laboratory and imaging studies. I dare not address the moral issues if I want to keep them engaged enough to return for treatment. None of them understand the objective data and I will only have to repeat it again next week, especially when they return with interested family members or partners. Does it ever end? For them, no it doesn’t. But as for me, I get to go home.

I hurry up. I check all of the boxes confirming I have acknowledged the abnormal liver enzymes, bladder infection and pneumonia. I document that I have given them specific instructions, handouts to explain diet, smoking cessation, exercise and substance abuse. After that, I to go home.

I get to go home. The housing development is pristine. The lawns are manicured. The streets have smooth and the sidewalks are clean. My neighbors only ring my bell to tell me they kept the package that was delivered to me at their house because it was raining when it arrived. Other than that, I never hear from my neighbors. I get to go home.

I will never begin to understand how miserable and helpless it must feel for someone to leave my office, burdened down with all of the bad news I just offloaded. It does not matter that I gave copies of the most important studies or detailed instructions on what pill to take when, which doctor to see next week, and how to apply the ointments, appliances and dressings to the wounds, sprains and scars. They go home to the same challenges of limited financial resources, emotional support and unsafe living conditions.

Once I leave clinic, I go home where I have an unlimited supply of all of these things in a comfortable, safe and loving environment. I thank God and I dare not judge. After all, I get to go home.

Your arguments are good
Your logic is refined
But if they are to know the truth
The last word must be Mine

You stand on your integrity
Never step out of line
You claim to be quite virtuous
When the glory should be Mine

Your striving to convince
Serves as the clearest sign
You just want to prove a point
When the last word, should be Mine

All the things you say and do
Are just a waste of time
When all they hear and see is you
And the last word should be Mine

When all flesh breathes their last
They will meet with the divine
Your opinions will not matter
Because the last word will be Mine

Isaiah 5:9
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts

For who hath known the mind of the Lord? or who hath been his counsellor?
Romans 11:34 KJV

I have my very own short list
Of people I ignore
Those who have offended me
I can now even the score

I pretend I just don’t see them
As if they don’t exist
They wronged and they hurt me
That’s why they are on my list

When on the street I see them
I cross to the other side
If they try to come and greet me
I increase my speed and stride

I compared my list to God’s
He was not picky as expected
He had a lower standard
He list had no one as rejected

He informed me of His choices
Of His lowering the bar
Said that if He judged as I did
Even I wouldn’t make it far

He said “I have no list of left outs’
Those I refuse to recognize
All are equally sinful and unworthy
But I do not one despise

I offer them all salvation
I grant them heaven’s bliss
And for Me to welcome you
You must take them off your list

Your list of unforgiven
Your list of ‘rot in hell’
Your list of ‘that’s the last straw’
If you can’t then I will tell

That you have no name in heaven
For you eternity does not exist
If you call yourself My child
You have no hate on your list

2 Peter 3:8-9 Beloved, do not let this one thing escape your notice: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill His promise as some understand slowness, but is patient with you not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance