As it turns out, I have to put up with not telling many more stories than I could ever share. The little box I work in is supposed to be sacred in several ways. One of which is that it is very wrong to divulge details of my work in a way that could be identifiable with another person. Good old Hippocrates got it right. The stories I hear are treasures of the human heart. They really do run the gambit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control, as well as immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, disputes, dissensions, factions, envying, drunkenness, and carousing. (I wonder if I am the only one to which this sound familiar.) There really are times of victory and humor. Even when I have to deliver the worst of news or when things appear bleak and all the world seems grey, I am reminded of the privilege of watching and participating in the lives of the people I see. The folks I meet are tremendously resilient. Humans even in despair are very flexible. The reflections of miracles in peoples eyes are a joy to my heart.
ardick
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