Healing

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Medicine To Die For, Part II

Inspired by Psalm 1:1; II Kings 1:3-4; Isaiah 53:1 & 5; Mark 6:3; II Corinthians 6:14-15; James 1:8; and Revelation 21:8

There are worse things in life than being alone. But some people have to learn that the hard way.

As far as our hero was concerned…

He would be a quadriplegic for the rest of his life. That was the diagnosis.

Completely dependent on others to help him eat, wash his hair, use the bathroom.

Everything he did required assistance. He couldn’t do anything by himself.

Perhaps that was why he felt so grouchy.

Or maybe he was just being himself.

The big question was: Where was his pampered servant?

“Max!”

No answer.

“Max!”

Hello! What was this?

Voices outside his door. Whispering.

“Looking good. Now for the test.”

“It’s time to show off the new you.”

“Wait a second. Let me adjust the cuff link. . . All right. You’re good to go.”

“Now stroll right in like you own the place.”

“Remember: Confident. Bold. Assertive.”

Now for the grand entrance.

Nice suit. Nice shoes. Bold colors. Strange hair style.

“Who are you, and what have you done with Max?”

“It’s the new me. I just had a makeover. Well? What do you think?”

“Waste of a good pay raise.”

“Oh. Well…”

Shouted whispers from outside the door.

“Bold! Confident!”

“Well, why not?” said Max. “I think it’s money well spent. Don’t you?”

Mr. Shipwreck wasn’t buying it.

“Come on, Max. Be real. I was under duress. I didn’t know what I was thinking, giving you so much money.”

More whispers. This time louder.

“Don’t fall for it, Max!” “He’s just trying to make you feel guilty!” “Are you going to let him talk to you that way?”

“But, um,” faltered Max, “what’s wrong with dressing in style? I mean, really?” A gel-resistant cowlick sprung forward in defiance of Max’s slicked back “do.” He pushed it in place with an awkward motion that Mr. Shipwreck supposed was meant to look sophisticated.

“Oh, come on, Max. It’s not you, and you know it. Now shut the door and tell those handlers to take their business elsewhere.”

“All right.” A deflated Max shut the door on the makeover brigade, against their fevered protestations; then turned to face his boss.

“It’s not worth it, Max.”

“What’s not worth it?”

“Trying to fit in with them. You’ve got to go with who you are, not how others want to dress you. Follow me?”

“I - I think I do.”

“Good. Because you’re the best gofer I’ve got and I wouldn’t want to lose you.” If there was anything Mr. Shipwreck knew how to do, it was to pour on the flattery. He saw Max cringe at the title ‘gofer,’ but perk up at the idea of being ‘best’ gofer.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Max, awaiting further instructions.

“And because you’re such a good gofer, I’ve got a special request for you.”

“Name it,” said Max eagerly.

“I want you to get hold of that guy down at the research lab, the one they call ‘Maggot.’”

“Maggot?” Max’s eyes grew wide.

“You know. The fly guy.”

Max winced, as if something utterly repulsive had just slimed his perfect suit.

“I thought you hated flies,” he said.

“Not if they can make me walk again.”

“But that - that Maggot character. Do you know what he does?”

“Yes, I do. And he’s the only one who can get me out of this bed.”

“He’s an accessory to murder!”

“Oh come on. The little globs of nonviable tissue were going to die anyway. Why not use their stem cells to save lives? A lot of people would agree with me on that.”

“That doesn’t make it moral. Or ethical.”

“Hang ethics! I’d kill for a chance to walk again!” Mr. Shipwreck was adamant.

What was wrong with Max anyway? he thought. Didn’t he consider the quality of his boss’s life to be of more value than a mere embryo?”

Just then the speaker phone came on.

“Prophet on line one. Says it’s urgent.”

“Take a message!” Mr. Shipwreck yelled to his secretary. Then more quietly, he said to Max, “Don’t do it for me as an employee. Do it for me as a friend. Okay?”

Surely his gofer could understand that much.

Terror filled Max’s eyes. The blood drained from his face, as if he was being dragged to his own execution. He had a choice to make. And it wasn’t an easy one.

“Come on, Max! Don’t leave me here to rot away. You can help me. Come on!”

Max hesitated, visibly shaken by the internal struggle that was tearing him apart. Then suddenly he shook himself off and with a face like flint removed his crinkled jacket. He grabbed it with both his hands and pulled it in two.

Rrrrrrip! Straight down the middle. So much for the makeover.

Max stormed out of the room, muttering, “The things I do for you!”

Mr. Shipwreck was stunned. He didn’t expect his star employee to take it so hard. After all, it was just a simple request. What had gotten into him?

Just then his secretary walked into the room with a brief but urgent message, which she read out loud to Mr. Shipwreck.

This was the gist of it:

Why, when you’re about to die,
Would you trust your life to a nasty old fly?
All it does is get in your eyes,
Distracting you with its pesky lies.

God is the carpenter who holds your cure.
He has it nailed down. He words are all sure.
For He is holy, by His stripes you’re healed.
But who has accepted this truth that’s revealed?

Because you have put all your hope in a lie,
Then please believe me, you surely will die.
The good news is there is still time to repent.
Believe in the gospel that from heaven is sent.

Sincerely,

The Prophet.

And by the way, the Maggot is an accessory to murder.”

The secretary placed the sticky note on Mr. Shipwreck’s nose and flounced out of the room, leaving the man once again all alone.

To decide for himself just who his true friends were.

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