The pale horse
First, my skin-spot. Is it a malignant cancer?
I don’t know. The doctor never looked at it. When I went in for my checkup, I was told that my health insurance was not acceptable.
“But when I made my appointment,” I told the receptionist, “I said that I had insurance from _____, and I asked if there was any way that it might not be accepted, and you assured me that it would be accepted since it was _____ insurance.”
“What you have,” she blandly replied, “is not _____ insurance but _____ _____ insurance” (the extra blank doesn’t denote a different insurance company; rather, it indicates that the coverage is funded by the state). “And although we do take _____ insurance, we don’t accept _____ _____ insurance. Did you not know this?”
No, I hadn’t known it, though I’d tried to ask her about it when I made the appointment.
Long story short, I’ll have to make an appointment to be seen by a different doctor. (I feel obliged to continue trying not to die, so young, of cancer.)
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
I’m re-reading Agatha Christie’s novel The Pale Horse, in which the victims sicken and die – apparently because of the cultivation, in them, of a “death wish” – while, miles away, their murderers safely wait. This will be the first Christie novel I’ve read three times. While its gloom is most appealing, it also tosses out such light barbs as this one:
The lesson: However impossible your own situation appears to be, God is able to lead you through it, as he was able to lead the Israelites across the River Jordan.
I want to cry out: Yes, yes, we know this; we knew it when Moses crossed the Red Sea. But when are we going to talk about the genocide? Isn’t that what’s at the troubling heart of the book of Joshua? Isn’t that what we believers must come to terms with? That, and the Israelites’ constant betrayal of God – even as, with his help, they triumph?
I don’t know. The doctor never looked at it. When I went in for my checkup, I was told that my health insurance was not acceptable.
“But when I made my appointment,” I told the receptionist, “I said that I had insurance from _____, and I asked if there was any way that it might not be accepted, and you assured me that it would be accepted since it was _____ insurance.”
“What you have,” she blandly replied, “is not _____ insurance but _____ _____ insurance” (the extra blank doesn’t denote a different insurance company; rather, it indicates that the coverage is funded by the state). “And although we do take _____ insurance, we don’t accept _____ _____ insurance. Did you not know this?”
No, I hadn’t known it, though I’d tried to ask her about it when I made the appointment.
Long story short, I’ll have to make an appointment to be seen by a different doctor. (I feel obliged to continue trying not to die, so young, of cancer.)
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
I’m re-reading Agatha Christie’s novel The Pale Horse, in which the victims sicken and die – apparently because of the cultivation, in them, of a “death wish” – while, miles away, their murderers safely wait. This will be the first Christie novel I’ve read three times. While its gloom is most appealing, it also tosses out such light barbs as this one:
We all went to church, and listened respectfully to Mr. Dane Calthrop’s scholarly sermon on a text taken from Isaiah which seemed to deal less with religion than with Persian history. …Indeed, this morning, Karin & I hear such a sermon. (Our pastor has resigned, and, while the Search Committee deliberates, we are preached to by volunteers.) The text is from the book of Joshua. The story is the crossing of the River Jordan. What were the four difficulties of crossing the Jordan?
- First, the river’s width: one mile.
- Second, its depth. How deep was it? (“One mile!” Karin whispers.) Twelve feet.
- Third, the mud. Even if the Israelites had been able to touch the bottom, twelve feet down, they would’ve sunk knee-deep into the mud. (My brother David would’ve liked this sermon.)
- Fourth, the current. (Behold a photo of our visiting preacher, leading a church tour at the River Jordan. Look at that awful current.)
The lesson: However impossible your own situation appears to be, God is able to lead you through it, as he was able to lead the Israelites across the River Jordan.
I want to cry out: Yes, yes, we know this; we knew it when Moses crossed the Red Sea. But when are we going to talk about the genocide? Isn’t that what’s at the troubling heart of the book of Joshua? Isn’t that what we believers must come to terms with? That, and the Israelites’ constant betrayal of God – even as, with his help, they triumph?