Tonight as I was tucking Sarah into bed, I had a very odd experience. She was near the end of telling me about the book she is reading, when I heard what I thought was the beginning of a downpour outside. As I had just left my Bible and journal on the veranda, I felt an urgency to leave and check on the situation. I interrupted Sarah, told her that I thought it was raining and that I needed to hurry downstairs to rescue my Bible. She understood, gave me a quick kiss, and said "goodnight". But there was a slight sadness on her face that "her time" was shortened by an emergency.
As I walked away from her room, rushing down the stairs, I found myself reflexively grabbing at my right hip to look at "my pager" to confirm the call and the time. The only problem was, I wasn't wearing a pager, and there was no emergency that I needed to go to. I became somewhat confused between longing for the familiar of being "on call" and the happiness of NOT "being on call." In that strange "flashback" moment, I realized that there are certain aspects of my profession that I have allowed to define who I am.
No physician will readily admit that he enjoys being "on-call". In fact, most of the time, physicians complain or grumble about being on-call. And yet, it often defines us as people. We are on-call. We handle emergencies. We also answer a bunch of simple (and at times silly and foolish) questions. We help people while on call. We serve them. We try to comfort them. We even "get to" handle disgruntled patients or family members.
And when we are on-call, we often try to live a "normal" life. We eat dinner with our family. We take them to the park. We play outside. We go to the store. And since we live in the 21st century, we have a pager and a cell phone to allow us mobility and freedom to live "normal" lives. But we are at the mercy of our pagers. When the Emergency Room, or the Intensive Care Unity, or the Maternity Floor calls, we may have to drop what we are doing and leave immediately. We become Superman. We change from one person (Daddy) to another (Dr. Superman). And what signals that transformation? The Pager.
So, now that I am without a pager, who am I? Am I still a doctor? Or am I something less? Or as a missionary, have I "climbed" the ladder to "Dr. Super-Duper Man"? How do I feel without a pager? Elated? Freed? Energized? Happy? Sad? Confused? Self-conscious? Insecure?
Honestly, I feel a combination of all of the above. But more importantly for me to process than how I feel about "who I am without a pager", is to settle the question of "who am I in Christ?" Am I allowing myself to be "complete" in Him? Or do I still "need" for someone to call me to the rescue for me to feel secure with who I am today? And would these questions still be relevant if I were living Stateside practicing medicine full-time? Or would they even be more critical for me to wrestle with?
I don't have a lot of answers. But I am surprised at the way the Holy Spirit challenges me over who I am by reminding me of my little black pager that I wore on my right hip. I hope that He challenges you as well to wrestle with the important question of "how do I let my job or profession define WHO I am."
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