I recently read a fascinating book by Dr. Katrina Firlik, a neurosurgeon.  The book provides a great glimpse into the training and work of a brain surgeon.  Firlik writes with super insight and humor, and I recommend the book highly.  

There's are great lessons to be learned from her stories, and one in particular has really spoken to me.  I've paraphrased it here for the sake of brevity.  She describes a scene in an exam room late in the last year of her residency at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, a time when she was already becoming jaded to the tragedies of neurological devestation: 

I walked into yet another examining room . . . a brand-new consult from out of town:  18 years old, cerebral palsy, spasticity.  OK, ok, I've seen this before, I just need to get a good history before my attending (physician in charge) walks in . . . I looked at the patient for a second:  very skinny, special wheelchair, amrs contracted, headsupport in place, mouth hung open.  It was clear I wasn't going to get the story from him, so I turned to the parents  . . . and started to take down the history.

(When) my mentor walked in, I cringed . . . He sat down on the examining table, introduced himself, and focused his gaze back on the patient.  After what seemed like several, almost uncomfortably quiet seconds, he looked the patient in the eye and asked, "So, when did you graduate from high school?"  The young man's face lit up like I had no idea it could.

My mentor had noticed something I had missed.  The patient was wearing a large high-schol ring, so large that it looked a little silly on his bony finger.  His body, far more than his mind, had borne the brunt of his cerebral palsy.  He was a proud, beaming high-school graduate, who used a specialized computer to help him communicate.  For the remainder of the visit I sat in the corner, duncelike, humbled by the enormity of this ring now staring me in th face. 

I too, make snap judgments everyday.  Most are innocuous, like where and what I will eat, or what songs we will sing on Sunday.  But when I judge another person and assume I know their story, (or worse) assume they wouldn't be a good candidate to become a Christ-follower, I make the saddest mistake of all.  It's so easy to view people as a statistic and not as a person that Christ died for.  I have misjudged many people over the years, and proven I'm not worthy to sit on the bench.  "The LORD does not look at the things man looks at," God reminded Samuel.  "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."  (1 Sam. 16:7-8)

Lord, help me see people through YOUR eyes this year . . .