Well, dear reader, today has been marked in my calendar as “Doctor Day.” Now, before you rush to conclusions, let me assure you — my health is good. I’m not writing this from a hospital bed or with a dramatic fainting couch at the ready. It’s simply that, since my heart troubles some years ago, regular medical check-ups have become part of the rhythm of life. They are, if you will, like spiritual disciplines for the body — checking, guarding, maintaining what God has entrusted.
Last week I sat in the cardiologist’s office, waiting for his verdict. He smiled, looked up from the screen, and said that my heart is functioning beautifully and should last me another 30 years. (At which point I thought, “Well, that takes me almost to 90… if I’m still preaching then, you have my permission to roll me into the pulpit in a wheelchair.”) He also removed two of my prescriptions, which has already made a noticeable difference. My morning pill-taking ritual had been so extensive that I half-expected to be offered toast and marmalade to go with it. Now, at least, it feels less like I’ve already had breakfast by the time I’m through.
Today’s adventure began with a trip to the endocrinologist. My sugars are usually good, but Spain — with its time zones, tapas, and long evenings — introduced a bit of chaos. My theory is that my insulin and my body clock were not on speaking terms. I suspect the doctor may phrase it differently, but I’ll let him have the final word. After all, I’ve noticed that specialists like to be right—and more often than not, they are.
As I thought about these visits — cardiologist, endocrinologist, chiropodist (yes, even my poor Camino foot has had its very own doctor) — my heart was filled not only with the blood flow my cardiologist so cheerfully confirmed, but with something deeper: gratitude. Profound thanksgiving. What an extraordinary blessing to live in a country where I need not worry about whether I can afford care, or whether there will be a doctor to see me. It is simply provided. That, dear friends, is an incredible freedom, and a moral gift.
I found myself thinking back to Sunday School when I was a child. Before we split into classes, we would gather for a short worship, and every week it ended with a prayer for Canada. The words are still with me, etched in memory like scripture. Today they ring in my heart again.
We are so blessed. My prayer now is that I may live in such a way as to be worthy of this blessing — that my life, like yours, may express gratitude not merely in words, but in deeds of kindness and care.
And so, while my doctors ensure that my heart continues to beat well, I ask God to make certain it also continues to beat faithfully.
Almighty God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage: We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favour and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honourable industry, sound learning, and pure conduct. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom, in thy Name, we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail; all of which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer, 1962)