It was almost one o’clock in the morning when the phone range in the Winters’ home. Dr. Leon Winter, the highly acclaimed Chicago surgeon, was awakened with a start.
Tonight it was a young boy, they said, tragically mangled in a late night accident. Couldn’t someone else handle it? Not this time. This time his hands were possibly the only ones in the city, or maybe in the whole region, which were skilled enough to save.
The quickest route happened to be through a rather rough area, but with time being a critical factor, it was worth the risk. He almost made it through the worst of the neighborhood. Almost. Then, at a stop light, his door was jerked open by a man in a gray hat and a dirty flannel shirt. “I’ve got to have your car!” the man screamed, pulling him from his seat. Winters tried explaining the gravity of his situation, but the man was not listening.
The doctor wandered for over 45 minutes looking for a phone. When the taxi finally got him to the hospital, over an hour had passed. He burst through the doors and into the nurses’ station, but the nurse on duty only shook her head. Too late. The boy had just died about 30 minutes earlier. “His dad got here just before he died,” the nurse told him. He is in the chapel. Go see him, would you? He is awfully confused. He could not understand why you never came.”
Without explaining, Dr. Winters walked hurriedly down the hall and quietly entered the chapel. At the front knelt the huddled form of a weeping father, in a gray hat and a dirty flannel shirt. Tragically, he had pushed from his life the only one who could save.
How many today are pushing from their lives the only One who can save? (Copied)
