Chapter 12
Friends Who Serve God Together
Kristen had known Dr. Cooper, or Ann, as she called her away from work, for a very long time. Each had been Christians since childhood, and both believed it was their duty to use their professional skills in God’s service. In honor of this belief, they would periodically travel overseas to serve as doctor and nurse in the mission field, most often together. They had been to Haiti a few times, Mexico many times, and once to El Salvador, all over the past ten or so years. Although they attended different churches—Dr. Cooper, Southside Baptist Church in Edmond, Oklahoma, and Kristen, Oklahoma City Pentecostal Fellowship—they became close friends while on their various mission assignments together. They were sincere followers of Jesus Christ who believed that every word in the Bible was true, and who did everything they could to let others know the depth of their faith.
Actually, this boldness had not always been a fully exercised character trait for either of them; both had often swallowed back what they really wanted to say in front of patients and colleagues, at least as far as their jobs at the hospital were concerned. For both of them that had changed the previous summer, shortly after they returned from their latest mission trip.
That assignment was to an orphanage in Mexico that was run by a very brave and daring young minister from North Dakota who often challenged the hypocrisy of the local churches that turned a blind eye to local drug traffickers, who were very generous, often giving thousands of dollars to local religious schools so they could enroll their own children in them. He never hesitated to tell others what his faith told him to say. The two women witnessed the young man being shot at during their time at the orphanage and they heard him laugh it off as a small price to pay to serve God. Kristen and Dr. Cooper vowed to each other that they would no longer shy away from telling those in need about the good news of Jesus Christ.
Once in a while they would go out together as best friends often do, eat dinner, and sometimes catch a movie. It was too seldom for two good friends, but it had picked up in frequency lately as both their children had reached teenage status and were therefore capable of watching themselves on their girls’ nights out. The biggest obstacle to their open friendship was the unwritten no fraternization policy between nurses and physicians in the Oklahoma City medical community. Fraternizing could tarnish one’s reputation—or so it was said. But Cooper didn’t care about such things; such pretension was anathema to her as a Christian.
On one particular girls’ night out about nine months before Robert’s accident and a week after they returned from their latest mission trip, they sat together, one across from the other, in a tiny booth at a local café on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. It was a restaurant frequented more by blue-collar workers than nurses or doctors, and one that both preferred. It was cheap and cozy, with friendly waitresses and patrons. Sipping on her cola waiting for the meal, a cheeseburger with fries, Kristen worked up enough courage to ask Cooper a question that had nagged her since they had arrived home a week or so before. “Why aren’t we doing more to minister to our patients here?”
The question sliced into Cooper’s heart like a knife through butter. She had asked herself that same question almost daily for a long time, and almost continuously since they had arrived home. After years of such trips, it finally dawned on her how powerful her testimony could be when she shared her faith with patients unabated, which up to that point had clearly not been the case near home, only when she set foot in foreign lands. Why not? She thought. Because I’m afraid of what the Blankenships of the world will think of me.
The question and the thoughts that followed caused her to sigh and pout a bit. She looked at Kristen and shook her head side to side. “I wish I knew,” was all she said.
“I’m not sure how long I can keep biting my tongue,” Kristin said. “It’s not right; to claim to be a Christian and know the truth, yet be afraid of what will happen to me if I do.”
“You’re right. To tell the truth, I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Do you know much about the Bray Clinic on the west side?”
“Not really.”
“It just opened this year, and it’s staffed by believers, all believers, who must affirm that they are Christians. They have to sign a statement that says they subscribe to the belief in the sanctity of human life and the clinic’s pro-life position.” Kristen could hear the rising enthusiasm in Ann’s voice as she put into words her thoughts about the prospect of a mid-life change in career direction, a change that would let her exercise her faith every day and not just a few weeks a year in some third-world hell hole. “They must also commit to sharing the gospel with the patients, mostly indigents.”
Kristen’s eyes brightened, too. She had heard that the clinic was staffed with Christians, but there had been other such places she had volunteered at before and they were almost as secularized as the public hospital in which they worked. The management at those places had been more fearful that an individual’s specific doctrine would offend than if a patient left the clinic without hearing the gospel message.
“Sounds too good to be true,” Kristen said.
“I followed another doctor at the clinic last weekend. It’s true.”
Though initially impressed with the thought of an evangelical medical outreach in her own city, a disturbing thought replaced the hopeful one: She’s going to leave me alone at the hospital, to fend off heathens like Blankenship.
Ann sensed the fear, one woman’s intuition trumping the other’s. “You can go, too,” she said.
“When are you leaving?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, frowning a little. “Maybe never.”
“If it’s so good, why wait?”
So, for the next nine months, Ann had asked herself that question every single day. She would volunteer for the clinic every few weeks, and she took Kristen with her on a couple of her rotations. The director would try to talk her into joining Bray’s staff each time, but she couldn’t pull the trigger. Eventually, she had gotten back into her daily routine at Memorial and had stopped sharing the gospel altogether. Until, that is, Robert Allen Baxter was admitted and she got involved in his care. Then the question returned, more persistent than ever: What am I waiting for?
Broken: A story of hope and forgiveness Page 15
