Subway Sandwiches, Goodness, and Mercy

I caught a glimpse of a beautifully-crafted, ultra-fresh, veggie-filled Subway sandwich on the television in a patient’s room today. My mouth began to water. And I dreamed of the possibility of indulging in such a delicacy at the next free moment. Rounds finished. Patient duties were mostly done. My stomach was beginning to growl. I was on call, but surely I could make the approximately 1 mile journey away from the hospital cafeteria grease and mush, down the block to where freshness lives and dwells. I carefully calculated my escape, power-walked with unprecedented determination, reached for the Subway door handle with great victory in my heart, and crossed the threshold into the smell of oven-fresh bread. Instantly, my pocket began to echo with the all too familiar ear-splitting siren clamor of the trauma surgery pager. Code 3 trauma. Life flight. Estimated time of arrival: 2 minutes. Greattttt. The last time I ran a 2 minute mile and crossed the finish line sweat-less and not panting like a puppy was a few summers back when I was being chasing by a cheetah in the jungle. It was really no big deal.

I swiftly exited the sweet aromas with great defeat in my heart and blazed down the street praying I wouldn’t become the next trauma of the evening as an auto-pedestrian accident. I arrived in the ER dripping from the brow with a pulse and blood pressure that possibly could have classified me as a Code 3. I tried to hide my winded-ness and reach for something productive to do, pretending as if I had been there all along. The whole thing was a wash and my team was ripping off their gowns before I could even get mine on. My resident nodded, patted me on the back, and we all went on our separate ways. My mind quickly raced back to that sandwich. Was it worth chancing again? You betcha.

With more determination than before I raced back down the street to Subway. I grabbed the door handle with slightly more caution than previously, looking down at the black box attached to my pants and giving it the “you behave, now” glare. As the fresh bread was sliced and the veggies were placed, my heart swelled with victory. Now, if only I could make it back and have a moment to savor the victory before the pager siren roared again.

A grand total of 4 miles for the God-blessed thing—a mere Subway sandwich never tasted so good. As I savored my dinner I was amazed at the length I went to just for a rather extraordinarily ordinary sandwich. Past the fresh bread and perfectly sliced tomatoes, my heart was quickly drawn to and captured by the last verse in Psalm 23--Surely His goodness and mercy shall chase me all the days of my life. I replayed my small and petty pursuit over the last hour. The entire hour had been dominated by a quest to bound every obstacle between me and Subway. And I was amazed that the God of the universe would chase me, pursue me, bound every obstacle with His goodness and mercy…not just for one hour but for all the days of my life! Conclusion: I must be worth far more than a Subway sandwich.

I am grateful for the tail end of that verse—and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (where I am sure things far greater than fresh sandwiches abound).

Praise be to a Good Shepherd Who never leaves us in want, Who brings us to green pastures and quiet waters, Who restores our souls, Who leads us on right paths, Who is near in the valley, Who comforts, Who prepares a table for us even in adversity, Who anoints, Who overflows our cups, Who chases us with goodness and mercy ALL the days of our lives, and Who ultimately brings us to dwell in His house forever.