Hospitals. They probably conjure up different images and memories for each person who has been to one…whether by choice or not. Because of the nature of my ministry I have been in my shares of hospitals through the years. Newer modern ones, older ones, private ones, hospitals that are part of a healthcare network and those that exist on their own in the middle of nowhere, I have been in more than I can remember in several different states over a 30+ year period. As I write this, I now sit in a waiting lobby of a very nice and beautifully designed hospital in the Midwest. My dear friend is having his third surgery, in a 30 day period, on the same part of his body. His current surgery has been called “his charm” because it is his third; this one to close a hole in his chest that refuses to heal. The difficulty of this experience is the emotional and physical toll it has taken on his body and his spirit, not over the surgery per se, but the post-operative experiences that he has endured. The pain in his eyes at the thought of this surgery was evident. The weakness in his voice, the wistfulness in his expressions and the anxieties he faces are palpable. I love him very much and it pains me greatly to see him endure this operative trilogy. But even though he is my dearest friend, I confess that it would be hard for me to trade places with him. As they rolled him into surgery today, I winced at the thought of what waited for him on the other side. I told him very clearly that I love him and will look forward to seeing him when he’s done. He smiled and returned my comments. But the most significant moment that I observed in the previous 24 hours happened late last night when the surgeon confirmed the need for his latest surgery. There were the myriad of penetrating questions by his wife and his adult children who were present. And when the surgeon left, the raw emotions of his family flowed freely. I stood in quiet respect of their personal and vicarious pain for my friend’s anticipated medical procedure. After the tears and emotions had subsided and each party left the room for the night, the only three that were left were my friend’s oldest son, my bedfast friend and me. When his son approached his bedside, my friend looked his son straight in the eye and said (with absolute peace in his voice), “Do you still believe in the sovereignty of God?” To which his son replied, “Dad, do you?” And my friend replied quietly, “Absolutely!” So that’s it, I thought. When all is said and done, no matter how difficult the experience(s) for a child of God, it comes down to…”Do you still believe in the sovereignty of God?” To which all of God’s children should say, “Amen!”