Warning! If you present the doctor with a minor complaint, she has been trained to feel obligated to fix you, bar none.

I was just beggin' to get my annual physical scheduled before the last hours of the medical insurance calendar year slipped away. Little did I realize that the holiday extravaganza I baked for my offspring as an excuse for me to indulge in sweet and buttery confections would cause my routine lab work to ring bells.

One doctor whistled to another, and it appears that a portion of my inner anatomy will fall victim to a surgeon's skill later on this week. It's all enough to make me want to put a few oatmeal cookies back on the plate.

Recently, as I was reflecting on scriptural lessons learned from Denise, Emily, Joyce, Jody and Matt, I was convicted to wonder if God may have a motive for the hours I've spent waitin' in offices, sweatin' thru lab tests, ridin' elevators, and gettin' results to land me beyond my control in an operatin' suite at a mid-town Atlanta hospital.

How would my Wednesday's childish full-of-woe-is-me attitude change if I deliberately demonstrated my belief and security in the power of Resurrection? Not that I plan to leave home on Thursday and not come back--but that in a sense, I'm already "home" and what's more, in order to win friends and influence others.

I could almost get excited.