My mother-in-law has cancer.

Sorry to start off with such a downer, but there it is.  It’s pertinent to the rest of this story, so you kinda need to know.  And now you do.

Anyway, she was diagnosed about two months ago, and underwent a series of tests to determine the scope of the problem and the best course of treatment.  The doctors, concluding that surgery was not a viable option, introduced her to the mind-numbing world of radiation and chemotherapy.  In essence, their plan is to bombard her person with all the radiation and unpronounceable chemicals that normal people struggle to avoid.  They intend to cure her by making her body such a toxic environment that no self-respecting mutation would want to live there.

OK, fine—let’s get to it.

And herein lies the problem—the getting to it part.  Three weeks ago, they gave her a final preliminary test and told her that she would begin treatment in seven-to-ten days.

Seven-to-ten days.

Three weeks ago.

You see the problem.

At about the ten day mark, we began making polite phone calls, seeking to determine the cause of delay.  We were told, in essence, “These things take time.  Don’t worry.”

Well, hmm…time is not exactly our friend in this situation, and while we certainly want the professionals to do a thorough job, we also want to deal with the cancer before it gets big enough to seek treatment for her.  We were beginning to feel lost in the bureaucracy.

Time to squeak.

A visit to the hospital.  A conversation with the “Patient Relations Specialist” (that would be hospital talk for the Customer Service Department).  A few discreet mentions of the word malpractice.  Within the hour, Ma-in-Law had her first appointments scheduled.  She begins treatment tomorrow.

So, why did we have to get squeaky before things got done?  Frankly, it reminds me of my middle-school classroom.  Every year, I go through a similar process in teaching my students.  At some point, they get rowdy—after all, they are in middle school.  I ask them, politely, to settle down.  Usually they ignore me.  I ask a second time, then a third, as their volume level increases.  Finally, I put on my stern teacher voice and tell them to, “Shut Up!”

By the way, most teachers will say to you that they never tell students to “shut up.”  They lie.

Anyway, when I yell, they get quiet.  And then I explain to them what they just taught me.  By ignoring my polite requests, they have taught me that they do not want me to be polite.  By responding to my rude behavior, they reinforce said behavior.  If I get what I want only by yelling…

They often don’t get the picture.  But you do.  And, I’ll bet you’ve already made the connection between my classroom and the hospital.  Because you’re just that good.  And I’ll bet you see what’s coming next.

God is a gentleman.  He doesn’t, as a matter of habit, barge into our consciousness.  Jesus says, “I stand at the door and knock,” not, “I’m kicking the door in!”

But that doesn’t mean he can’t.

Scripture is replete with examples of just what God will do to get his people’s attention when they don’t listen to his, “Still, small voice.”

Lightning.

Plagues.

Earthquakes.

The ever-popular locust.

No, thank you very much.

I want to live in such a way that God doesn’t have to get my attention—I want him to already have it.

I never want to hear God squeak.