My Doctor's Receptionist Doesn't Know I Love Jesus

In fact, my doctor's receptionist probably thinks I hate the world and all the people in it. Let me tell this story for you.

So, I had been having some blood work at intermittent times over a span of two weeks. I hate needles (as in I had to be held down even at age 18 for shots), so I was already really having to put on my big girl panties to go to these appointments. I had been told the process would take less than 20 minutes from the moment I walked in my doctor’s office to the time I was leaving the lab. I’d sign in, get a form to take to the lab immediately, go to the lab, let those vampires steal my blood, and I’d be on my merry way. Fine. I’ll do it, but I won’t like it.

I arrived and signed in. I sat down in the peanut gallery, assuming my name would be called any moment and I’d get to wave at these sad, waiting folks as I got a free ticket out of jail.

Ten minutes go by. Fifteen more.

I’m sure the doctor is doing something really important and has overlooked my form. I’ll gladly sacrifice my time so that she can save a life. That’s heroic.

Five more minutes.

Stewing ensues. I feel my face go flush, and I’m pretty sure my eyes are beginning to shoot flaming arrows at the receptionist I’m waiting on.

Receptionist asks if I’m still waiting. “Yes ma’am. I’ve been already waited 30 minutes.” Was that polite? I think I sounded polite. Maybe a little too brash. She said she’d make it happen, after all, it’s just a form.

Twenty five more minutes pass.

Ok for real. I’m sitting by an elderly man who is wheezing as he breathes. My face is literally hot to the touch, and I can’t divert my angry eyes from the front desk. Constant cannonballs were being launched at the woman holding my fate in her hands on an 8.5x11 sheet of paper. I go to the desk, trying not to cry. Can we talk about how terrible it is that tears are the way my body processes any emotion? Not ideal. I asked to reschedule, and she asked me to wait a few more minutes.

About five minutes later, I finally had a form. I basically snatched the form from the lady's hand, said thank you (that I obviously didn't mean), and walked out, pushing the door a little to get some extra traction. I didn't slam the door... but I am pretty sure my frustration was made known.

I was literally in the lab for 3 minutes before I was headed home. Of course, my blood pressure was so high it was a much quicker process than normal. I stewed for hours (ok really until the next morning). I let this situation steal my joy for almost 24 hours.

Let it be known that I am indeed not proud of myself for the way I responded to a frustrating situation. I actually felt so convicted for the way I felt that I considered calling and apologizing the following day. I probably should have. Who knows what is now written on my official medical chart.

In a month where patience was so obviously a theme, this extra dose of waiting should not have been a surprise to me. This was at the end of the month, so you would think that I would have learned my lesson and would contain the most impressive amount of patience within myself, but that was clearly not the case. Since when did my time become more important than how I treat another human being? The way I reacted, at least in my heart, was not honoring to the people responsible for my wait.

My face didn’t say, “Hey, I’d really love for you to know Jesus and I have you as a captive audience until you bring me that form, so I can use that time to tell you about my Savior.” Instead, it said, “I’ve never been so angry in my life. Don’t speak to me. I might combust.” So, so convicting. It seems I had not learned the lesson God so graciously had taught all month. Patience isn’t an easy lesson to learn. I’m glad patience is not something I must conjure up on my own, but is a revelation of the Holy Spirit’s work in my life. I must rest in Him to make my waiting purposeful and trust Him to help me joyfully seek Him, even in those moments when it seems the wait has been too long.