Healing

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Medicine To Die For, Part III

Inspired by Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, the book of Acts, and various other scriptures including II Kings 6:12; Jeremiah 20:9; Acts 10:38; I Timothy 4:1-2; and II Peter 1:20 & 21

Blast! No matter which way he turned his head, the piece of paper remained stuck to his sniffer. He tried to blow it away, but to no avail. Blast, blast, blast!

Buzz… The little black winged creature with the wall paper eyes laughed at him from its temporary resting place upon the wooden bed post.

A million images of that bed post spun inside his head like so many red hot splinters.

Falling from the roof he had mangled in a fruitless attempt to fix it. Hot like the anger that raged inside his bones.

Red. All he could see was red.

He was primarily mad at himself, knowing that it was his fault he was lying there on that bed, unable to move anything but his head. For if he hadn’t been so determined to fix that roof - all by himself - , then he wouldn’t be lying there paralyzed.

How could he have been so stupid?

And then there was that pesky fly.

Landing here. Circling there. Listening in on everything he said, then playing it back for all the world to hear.

What sort of fiend would stoop so low?

Bugging his home… recording his private conversations… and then using those very same conversations against him.

Well, Mr. Shipwreck would just have to do something about that nefarious eavesdropper.

“Max!”

Where was that lazy servant?

“Esperanza! LaShawna! Mohammed!”

No answer.

Apparently all help, both domestic and foreign, had retired for the day.

It figured.

Oh well. He might as well take a nap.

Buzz… Buzz… A million blurred images… so many thoughts… Whack!… Ouch!… Where was that ladder?… No!… They made carpenters for things like that. Carpenters for things like… like… Round and round spun the wheel… the memories whirling… tormenting him… Must… forget. Must… rest.

Mr. Shipwreck was just dozing off when who should come bursting through the door but Max, all out of breath and looking like something the cat dragged in!

How could he?

“Why did you do it, Max? Why?”

“I did it because you asked me to. Or rather, told me to. And I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself.“

“Don’t be ridiculous, Max. I never asked you to rat me out.”

“Rat you what?! I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then why don’t you take this blanket-y blank piece of paper off my nose and read it?!”

“Okay, okay,” said Max. “Stop cussing. For what it’s worth I visited the slime ball - the maggot guy - like you suggested. Brrr, did he give me the creeps! I wouldn’t be surprised to find my conscience seared like a hot iron after being around him. But what do you care?”

“Oh, for crying out loud, if I knew you hated doctors so much, I never would have asked you to do it.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t hate doctors, just guys like him. They’re the ones who give the medical profession a bad name. But what’s done is done. And it’s too late to take it back now.”

Max yanked the note off Mr. Shipwreck’s nose. He then proceeded to read it out loud, forcing his boss to listen to it all over again.

Would the torture never end?

“The prophet’s right,” said Max. “I never should have listened to you.”

“Stop it. You’re making me feel guilty.”

“Good. You should feel guilty.”

“Enough about me. What about this prophet - the one you hired to set me up? Bug my room. Eavesdrop on me. Don’t deny it, that’s exactly what you did. Didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. Can I help it if the man’s a prophet? God obviously gave him that message to give to you. He must be trying to tell you something.”

“Are you telling me you have no idea who sent this message?”

“Well, I can’t be certain,” said Max. “But his style reminds me of a certain Elijah the Fishbite, the infamous journalist from Anchorage, known for his fiery wit and biting sarcasm. Not exactly your Saturday walk-in-the-park sort of fare. His predictions are always right on the money, and you can’t miss the fish on his bumper sticker. Or so they say. Ever read any of his articles?”

“Nah,” said Mr. Shipwreck. “Sounds too controversial for me. Is he another doctor hater?”

“It’s like I already told you,” Max tried to explain. “I don’t hate doctors. I just don’t think they’re perfect. As for that fly guy, I don’t think his experiments are in the best interests of medical science, not to mention the unborn. If that makes me a doctor hater, than so be it. What I don't understand is why a smart man like yourself would look to a flea bag to cure him of his paralysis when the carpenter can do it in two seconds.”

Mr. Shipwreck was thoughtful. He didn’t appreciate the prophet, whoever it was, nosing into his business and criticizing his medical decisions. But at the same time he heard truth in Max’s voice, and knew in his heart that the only way Elijah the Fishbite (or whoever it was) could have found out about his conversation with Max was if God Himself had told him. And if that was the case, then he had better listen.

As he told Max, “You know I’m not much of a praying man. I’ve relied on doctors all my life and never questioned their judgment, even if their practices were questionable. Not until today, when that Elijah character had the nerve to question my choice of doctors. Made me madder than anything, but I’m thinking he may have a good point. I’m thinking that I’d like to learn more about this Elijah the Fishbite (whoever he is) and the carpenter he’s so wild about.”

And so Max sat down to tell Mr. Shipwreck all about the greatest story the world has ever known.

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