Footprints in the Sand

     Psalms 77 was in my devotional reading today.  It is a song by Asaph who was a Levite and temple singer in David's time from who many subsequent temple singers arose.  It's not known if he composed or just sang or if it was composed by someone of his family.  Nonetheless, it starts with the lament that indicates "where is God?" mentality.  Complaining of what God did in the past and why isn't He visible or present today.  By the time it reaches verse 19, he comes to his senses and realized that God has been there all along calming the sea walking along side, but his footprints in the sea of life disappear with the surging waters.

         During the time of sheltering at home during the COVID outbreak, I have gone thru a few boxes and folders of old things that have not been gone thru for a long time.  One such box contained things saved from medical school and my internship.  It has been so long ago that I only have vague memories and thoughts about how hard it was in my training, but not until I reviewed some of those papers did I really see how God even at that time was guiding and directing us. We just got married in December of 1970 but that year the draft lottery was developed for obtaining soldiers for the Vietnam War.  In the lottery, my number was 116.  They started with 001 and by 1972 when the draft stopped they were at 215.  I received a student deferment because of being in Midwestern as a full time student and then being in Medical School from 1971-1975.  By the time I finished school they had stopped the draft.

     I don't remember being anxious about that but I should have been.  All my grades were in the box that I went thru and I wasn't a very good student according to the grades I made in the first year.  The funny thing was that I seem to remember being pretty smart.  The second year was worse and I received Pink mid-term warning slips in each of the three semesters.  I failed a course in Obstetrics (I remember thinking it was unfair because I thought the instructor, Dr D hated one of the students and he had mistakenly though I was the person.  We did look similar.)  I took a make up test and thought I passed and told the dean as much.  He sent me a letter telling me that he checked with Dr D and he said I failed again.  So, I would have to do a make up rotation over the summer acceptable to Dr D or I would not advance to the third year.  I went to see him and ask with whom I do a rotation.  His reply was that "I was too stupid" for him to put me off to any of his friends.  This was many years prior to participation ribbons, trigger warnings and safe zones in schools.  I ultimately found a rotation in Dallas Texas and went there for the summer between my 2nd and 3rd year and successfully completed my OB course. (I ultimately successfully competed almost 120 deliveries prior to graduation).

     Looking back on that time, it is patently obvious that the seas were churning around me.  By all rights, I should have sunk into the abyss.  I had no plan B.  (Apparently Uncle Sam had one for me in Vietnam.)  But I have no memory of such lasting anxiety or stress that I remember it at all.  I just wandered thru thinking that I was doing fine without help.  I can see clearly now that God was watching, protecting and encouraging me along the way thru medical school.  But as it says in Psalms 77:19 his footprints disappear in the surging sea.  He was there but I must acknowledge that it was Him not me that struggled thru on my own.  He doesn't demand credit, or even need my acknowledgement but He wants a relationship with me.  One in which I voluntarily and willingly give Him the credit. He lead me like a shepherd leads the sheep that I am.  It was Him not me that got me thru. 

     During the time of sheltering at home during the COVID outbreak, I have gone thru a few boxes and folders of old things that have not been gone thru for a long time.  One such box contained things saved from medical school and my internship.  It has been so long ago that I only have vague memories and thoughts about how hard it was in my training, but not until I reviewed some of those papers did I really see how God even at that time was guiding and directing us. We just got married in December of 1970 but that year the draft lottery was developed for obtaining soldiers for the Vietnam War.  In the lottery, my number was 116.  They started with 001 and by 1972 when the draft stopped they were at 215.  I received a student deferment because of being in Midwestern as a full time student and then being in Medical School from 1971-1975.  By the time I finished school they had stopped the draft.

     

John Paul (JP) Smith, Jr. D.O. F.A.C.O.S.

It seems like a good idea to tell the story to those that would listen (read) about who I am by what I am called.  Each case represents a different picture of the same me.  Interestingly, one can tell when and under what circumstances that someone knew me by the name that they call me.

John
This would be the first name that I would be know.  I guess really Johnny to be more precise.  It is a name that I recall being used mostly by my Grandmother (Grannie Smith).  I am sure that my parents may have used that as well but by the time I remember they called me John.  That is, therefore the name that Sheri calls me.  She was around me and my folks so she began to call me by that name as we dated in 1968 and thereafter.  She still uses that name.

John Paul
I am sure that by the time I reached High School, this is the name that most of my friends used to address me.  Reached is a stretch so to speak because at the start of my freshman year at WFSH at the ripe old age of 14, I stood at proud 5 feet 4 inches tall and a whopping 104 pounds.  At least it said so on my first drivers license.  That size was close to the size of my dad who was 5 foot 6 and not much over 120 pounds but certainly I "towered" over my mom who stool 4 ft 11 inches flat footed.  Of course she was rarely flat footed, almost always in her 4 inch heels.  Apparently I had quite a growth spurt according to my mother that year.  All my friends called me John Paul because my Dad was referred to as JP.

JP
This became my nickname largely when I went to medical school in 1971.  Within my circle of friends at Kansas City were at least 3 other Johns to whom I was close (John Strosnider, John Shover and John Heid).  My dad was not there and wasn't not know to my KC friends and so there was not any confusion about who JP was.

Smith
There have been a very small number of folks that have know or addressed me as Smith.  I guess that is largely due to the multitude of names that I have had to use.

Jr.
For much of the same reasons, I never used Jr. very much.  But I was Junior not by the choice of my parents but by the Wichita Falls Times newspaper.  My dad was born the fifth child of James Franklin and Emma Lina (Hunt) Smith in Wichita Falls.  I was told that they were short on ideas for my Dad's  name and they chose his name out of a hat, uniting John from James Frank's father's name John Calvin Smith.  I don't know where the Paul came from but likely it was a good Biblical name from Emma's brother who was a Methodist Bishop in Arkansas.  I was born early in the morning of August 23, 1949 at the General Hospital in Wichita Falls.  After my birth, my dad went home to try to sleep and while he was at home there his dad had a heart attack and was taken to the same hospital.  According to records, Pap (as he was know)  was told of my birth and shortly thereafter died on the same day as my birth. (I am not aware of any direct correlation between him seeing me and passing away).  This fact was apparently published in the Times and they assumed that I would be named a Junior and the name just stuck and was place on the birth certificate.  After the passing of my dad in 2000, there was no longer a legal need to use the Jr. designation.

D.O.
While no one calls me DO, the title Doctor has be one of the longest held nouns that describe me.  By the age of 10,  I apparently knew that I wanted to be a doctor.  My mother related a story that while she worked as the school secretary at Alamo, one of the teachers told her that I had been caught in the library looking at anatomy books.  They assumed the worse, but my Mom always saw the best in everything.  Even at that time I had a mental picture given to me of me in a white coat as a doctor.  It was strange to me since, we had no one in the family who was even remotely related to the medical profession.  In fact, I was a first generation college student in the family. (Although I think that one of my dad's older brothers, Harold, may have attended college but I am not sure).  Dad did graduate high school, but mom had dropped our during her sophomore year to move to California to help her mother with the care of her newborn sister, Linda.

About the time I reached Midwestern University during my sophomore year, the need to work to pay my way became apparent.  I have had some part time jobs at the YMCA and summer work with a telephone line crew in Aransas Pass Texas.  But I thought in pursuing a career as a doctor, it might be beneficial to actually see what a doctor does.  So, I applied to the Wichita General Hospital and received a joy as an orderly in Surgery (the only job available).  I gradually advance by on the job training and became an OR tech.  In fact, in the first year that certification became possible for OR techs, I took the exam and failed (who knew that microbiology was important?)  I worked the 3-11 shift through out the next 3 years while I finished my degree in Biology with a minor in Chemistry.  As I began to apply to medical schools late during my Junior year, I wasn't getting much affirmation.  One of my friends, Kendall Reed was a year ahead of me in Midwestern and had just gotten accepted to the DO school in Kansas City and suggested I apply to that school.  I got an interview at KC and at the new school forming in Ft Worth, but was accepted at KC before even interviewing at Ft Worth.  In 1970, I was concerned about the War in Vietnam and the draft since I had a mid range lottery number for selection, so I accepted the invitation to KC to fulfill my dream of being a doctor.  I graduated in 3 and a half years from Midwestern and Sheri and I got married on December 31 of 1970 and in July we moved to Kansas City to start medical school.

F.A.C.O.S.
This title indicates that I am a Fellow in the American College of Osteopathic Surgery.  This one is probably lest understood title than most of the other terms to name me.  It is an honorary title that is given to members of the organization when they have achieved after making contributions to the organization thru service and the profession.

Manasseh's Split

As I  was doing my devotional reading thru the Bible, I was in the book of Joshua.  Usually,as I reach the portion of Joshua where they divide up the land of Canaan I lose interest pretty quickly.  The names are long, hard to pronounce and are unfamiliar to me.  But I was trying hard to make a connection and find an application.  

To the Israelite, genealogy and heritage is extremely important to say the least.  The Book of Matthew and Luke devote extensive time to recounting the father-son relationship going back to Abraham and to Adam, respectively.  Likewise in Old Testament times, most all Jews could easily trace their heritage back to one of the original 12 tribes or sons of Jacob.  Who you belonged to, often defined you.  Moses and Joshua both reinforced Gods command to them to marry within your own people.  So, your brothers and cousins were your family and your family marched together, fought together, lived together and died together.

So, as the Israeli people approached the Jordan to cross over and begin to possess their land, a small detail jumped out at me.  Why did Manasseh's tribe split and half of the tribe want to stay on the East of the Jordan and the other half go into Canaan west of the Jordan to receive their inheritance?  Together the two half tribes' territory made up the largest portion of the inheritance from God that Moses divided. That is a fact that I am certain is not without an underlying purpose.  (But that topic is for a different time to discuss.)

The half tribe of East Manasseh agreed to fight side by side with their West Manasseh brothers under the same banner until Israel won and everyone had received their inheritance. Then they would go back east and settle with their families. Why would they separate from their brothers?  These people had lived together and traveled together thru the 40 years in the Wilderness.  They had a singular head of the tribe thru out. So, of all the tribes did they separate?  Scripture is silent on the reason or rationale for the separation.  No mention is made of the problem, or what the disagreement was, (lifestyle, worship style, music .... I don't know).  

My point was just that that.  We don't know what the problem was but it was big enough to split brother from brother. But they continued to work together toward a common goal for the greater common good.  And its important to note that the split part occurred before they proceeded to accomplish a big objective... completing the will of God.

So my take away from all of this.  God has certainly given us free will to make decisions.  Its okay to disagree and have our own opinions.  The difference in the people of Manasseh is that they apparently had a fairly large disagreement but  they still chose to be together and work through the tough times.  That is to disagree but still be able to work together.  It appears as if our society today has become so polarized that we agree on very little and therefore we can't seem to confront a common foe that is opposing us.  We seem to think that agreeing to work on anything will weaken our position or standing with those who share our opinions.  Whether it is political, religious or even public health topics at hand, we must be able to work together to defeat or conquer that which would destroy us and our way of life.  We can do that only by looking up to find the banner and consolidate our battle there.