I’ve been pretty good in all the big things, much better than most. People who watch me would agree, most of the time. I’m kind to patients, usually pleasant with co-workers, rarely curse, faithful in marriage and donate generously to those in need.

George is a friend and a patient who now sees Jesus face to face. The other day from his hospital bed, his wife and daughters noticed a big smile, after which they saw George lick his lips. They asked George if he was okay, and he answered with a grin of joy, “I just got a mouthful of Jesus.

This was the first time I had met his son-in-law. He came to the clinic along with his two young children to support his father-in-law in his severe illness. He was tall, with a red beard, a New England accent and a California tee shirt. The first thing he did was reach out his hand and say, “Let me first say to you, thank you for wearing your faith on your collar.”

Today I told two people that it would be futile to continue the fight against their malignancies and that their lives would likely be measured in weeks. The first man told me, “It’s all good. I’m going home.” The second young woman said, “I’m at real peace.” Her husband then clarified, “She’s like a child on the edge of the pool, jumping with arms outstretched for her Daddy.”

My friend, Carl, stopped me after Bible study to share a recent encounter. Carl had recently endured a multivessel CABG with significant complications that almost took his life. “I was in a rehab group—you know, the psychology part where they discuss stress. The man next to me wore a hat that labeled him a Christian. He described his anxiety to the group, ‘My greatest cause of stress is this scar on my chest.’

I just arrived home after attending a Muslim prayer service for the wife and child of a friend. His wife died tragically one week before birthing their first son. The service was simple with a few additional prayers in Arabic after the third prayers of the day at 5 p.m.

I belong to an accountability group for personal witness. For some reason this week I was asked to speak to medical students for a series called Inspire, meant to encourage first and second year students to seek joy in their future careers. God overwhelmed me with the understanding that I should share my faith in Christ with them, even in this fully secular setting.

They called me from the church today. One of the homeless women staying there had developed a painful rash. I drove over, documented an acute H. Zoster infection and wrote the prescription for acyclovir, prednisone and a few hydrocodone. Later today I had fallen asleep on the floor at home and awakened to spot a text from my friend who was helping the homeless that weekend.

The following email was sent to me as a matter of prayer: “In April, my wife was found to have a large frontal lobe GBM. Her last MRI showed diffuse recurrence despite radiation and Temodar. She has decided to enter hospice care. She is incredibly at peace. She tells everyone that very soon she will be healed when she is in Glory. I’m not near as strong as she is, and have been ‘frustrated’ at my inability to help her. I think we, as physicians, feel that we have to ‘do something’ about everything. Saturday morning, I had a sitter for her, so I could do some errands.

My mother suffers from severe dementia. She often seems to understand what we say and who we are but can never speak coherently. Her life is difficult, and our goal as children is to visit often and give her moments of joy. Yesterday my sister was visiting Mom and told her about one of her friends who was seriously ill. Mom bowed her head and began, “Oh Lord, you are the one we come to in our need.”

My nurse practitioner is a Catholic Christian who has expanded her options by embracing Buddhism after multiple vacations to Thailand, where she fell in love with elephants. When the church at Notre Dame burned, she was heartbroken, as was I. Today I asked her if she had ever been to Notre Dame and seen the Crown of Thorns that was kept there. She had not, but then showed me a picture of St. Anthony she carried with her, and then drifted to her admiration of St. Francis. She said. “I’ve always wanted to walk where St. Francis walked.”

This was a weekend off-duty, so I had time to visit a few patients as a friend, not a professional. I had just prayed with two for healing in very difficult situations and was traveling between hospitals. My thoughts drifted to personal needs. A child of mine desperately needs a work of great power. “Dear Father, everything else is okay in my life. Just give me this one thing, and I can manage the rest.”

He sat there for a moment after I had finished his exam. I wondered what was keeping him in his chair. He then asked softly, “Are you a Christian?” I was a little bit stunned, as this was out of the blue, but answered, “I certainly am; are you?”

She was middle aged, chronically anxious and doing well from her past cancer. When I asked her about her weight, she replied, “I was losing weight until I started smoking marijuana.”

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged…” (Matthew 7:1-2, NIV 1984). I have a wonderful daughter-in-law, who is a fantastic cook with a culinary degree and is very health conscious for her family when it comes to food. A few years ago, she decided to remove gluten from her diet. I thought it was a fad and teased her for her decision. And then, the next time I underwent my annual health exam, my physician discovered I was both iron and B12 deficient. As an oncologist, I was convinced I had a GI cancer. I was relieved to discover I was simply gluten sensitive, secondary to celiac disease.

“While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8b, NIV 1984). He was big, a John Wayne kind of a guy, still well-nourished, but tired after the treatment I had put him through. While examining him, I admired the leather jacket he was wearing. “There’s an interesting story about this coat,” he said. “It wasn’t long after I bought it that I was at a pawn shop I frequent. The clerk noted that someone was breaking into my car.” My patient paused. “I was carrying. I ran out to the car with my little pearl-handled pistol and caught the guy holding this jacket I’m wearing.