Good old Mr. Wilson left after his physical with the family doctor. He was
miserable as he was fine, except he was told to go on a diet. Even 60 years ago
that was the standard advice given after a physical. But upon leaving the
office with Mrs. Wilson, Dennis goes back and reminds the doctor he forgot to
give good old Mr. Wilson his toy. And the doctor responds by reaching into the
toy box and letting Dennis pick one out for him. Such was the practice, no pun
intended of going to see the doctor when I was a kid. A much different scenario
from today’s office building complex, with waiting rooms the size of a small
auditorium. Growing up it was common for the doctor to have his office in a
wing of his home, his wife was a nurse and receptionist, and both knew us all by
first name. Consultations were like family discussions, as they listened to
your complaints and comments, and a follow up phone call was not unusual-at no
charge. They actually cared about you, and the toy was often an incentive to
lure us young kids in, with the reward of some small toy as the reward for
getting a shot, or having your tonsils looked at, or being assured the latest
case of zits was just normal for your growing up.
Our dentist, Dr. Grill, became friends with my parents, as in the small
town they lived in, they were both in some common social clubs. They would see
each other at the gas station, or their wives while shopping. And even though
they were friends, it was always Dr. Grill, and my parents addressed as Mr. and
Mrs. Mohn. A bit formal for today, but more courteous. Personally I didn’t
care for the dentist, or any other person who stuck their hands in my mouth.
But waiting for me after the hands in mouth episode was the treasure chest.
Always stocked with cheesy toys, like plastic soldiers, a doll for the girls, or
some cheap 50 cent toy your mother would never buy for you, because one-you
really never wanted one, and two-they broke or got lost immediately upon getting
home, if they lasted that long. But the draw of a free toy was too much to
resist, and great time was spent making the decision. Even then our negotiating
skills were being honed for future adult car buying. Toy soldiers, or a Yogi
Bear squeeze toy? How about a Barrel of Monkeys, many an afternoon spent
playing with them in boredom. Or a fake diamond ring to impress your friends?
But the one I longed for was the toy hypodermic needle, that gave way when
pretending to give someone a shot. “It’s my turn Doc, bend over and get
ready...” but as always some one had always beat me to it. And so when Dennis
went back for Mr. Wilson’s toy, it was only natural, and another thing for
today’s kids to question their parent’s about. “You mean the doctor really gave
you a toy for going to see him?”
Yes they did, and it was considered bedside manner. A time when doctors
didn’t see 8 patients an hour in an industrial looking, impersonal office. When
a lollypop was offered to help fight back the tears, and a hug provided free of
charge. A time when house calls were done, and you had the doctor’s home phone
number, only using it when really needed, respecting his free time with his
family. You saw them in public and were polite, and Dr. Santoro, our family
doctor, my parents gave him the ultimate honor by naming one of their cats Edgar
after him, was even the team physician in high school, and did our sports
physicals. Who always greeted you by name, and told you to say hello to your
parents for him, making you feel special after turning your head and coughing.
So yes medicine, and those who practice it has changed, but sadly common
courtesy also has. With an interesting duplicit situation today, show up early
and wait, show up late and be billed for a missed appointment. No longer
greeted by “Hi Mike,” but now “insurance card and picture ID please,” the
please optional, not mandatory or expected.
So the days when doctors gave gifts is long gone. And maybe one last trip
to the treasure chest is in order. Maybe a way of them showing care and
compassion, rather than just hearing “next,” and being identified by your
patient number. When Johnny Rivers sang Secret Agent Man years ago, he sung of
“they’re giving you a number, and taking away your name...” I sure don’t feel
like a secret agent. But a few years back, I received a letter from a lady in
prison, on death row. She has come to the Lord, and sent me a loving letter, so
touching I carry it with me in my Bible.
to remind me of how Jesus Christ changes lives. She wrote of reading one
of my stories, as she calls them, and starting to cry. Putting it down, reading
more, and crying some more. And how it was one thing to read the story, but
another to be written about. And for the first time in along time, she felt
like a person, instead of just a number. Today I must admit to her, that I
never wrote about her. This is the first time, and I do it out of love, and by
the holy spirit. You see, it was the spirit that opened her heart, and revealed
himself through my story that day. It was Jesus making himself personal to her,
for she will always be a name and never a number. That story was her trip to
the treasure box for her, and God gave her a special toy that day. And me too,
for when God is involved, we both benefit. And occasional letters are so
encouraging to me, they always seem to come at the right time. As do all the
letters I get from inmates who I write too. They are not forgotten by me, and
never by Jesus either, who knows them by name, and has forgiven them. Who wants
them to share their testimony with others in jail, as his spokesman. Prison
walls may make them a prisoner, but no walls can keep his spirit from changing
lives. Even on death row, Jesus is saving and changing lives. A lesson precious
to me.
And so I must admit I was never going to admit to my lady in prison this
story, but today I hope to encourage her with it. I remember her. To remind
her how much Jesus loves her, and how much I appreciate her. How she and others
who go by number are still known to me and God by name. Who have been forgiven,
just not by the state. But who upon death will be set free forever, along with
the Apostles Paul, Peter, John, and all the others who claim Jesus. Who died
terrible deaths, who endured prison, beatings, and public ridicule for him. The
day is coming when the treasure chest in heaven will be opened to us all, and
the prizes will be beyond description. And we will never look back. We will be
face to face with a loving personal God who loves us, and cares for us. And
does even now, in spiritual ways we cannot define. Only Jesus can take away
your number, because he remembers your name. And to all who read this, he knows
yours too.
The days of the doctor giving gifts is long gone, God still gives gifts,
blessings. And he loves to give them, so let him. Reach into his treasure box
of love today, get to know him, and see him in a new way. One who loves you, is
compassionate, considerate, and a gentleman. Who sent his son to die for you,
so you can live in him. Go back like Dennis did, and remind God of the present
he gave you, and give it to others. Doctors still practice medicine, Jesus got
love right the first time. No tricks, no games, and when you run into him out
on the street, he knows your name. And is always glad to see you. And please,
pray for those behind jail, and remember that God hasn’t given up on them, or
you either. One letter from a lady in prison who has been set free in Jesus is
a keeper for me. It’s that personal. I hope Jesus is for you too. No
appointments necessary, and the treasure box is just waiting for you. Where he
knows your name.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker. blogpsot.com