A group of doctors, gastrointestinal specialists, have a clinic.
And they made a commercial.
They shouldn't have.
One of them smiles, coaxing us to come in for an exam.
Be safe.
Be well.
"And we have all the latest equipment."
The picture cuts to a doctor holding a long, thin anaconda-like cable with a little flashlight on one end. His arms are outstretched and the anaconda stretches a foot on either side of his hands with a big curve in the middle.
Huh.
Now where is he going to put -
I sit up straighter.
And tighter.
Why did they show 6 feet of invasive tubing when they could've shown a pretty little light at the end of 3 or 4 inches of hose sticking out of a cute nurse's delicate hand?
Yeah.
That's some marketing.
The picture cuts to a smiling doctor with a remote-control PlayStation thingy.
He jiggles the joystick while looking at a monitor.
And I realize what he's driving through.
With the anaconda.
The next shot is the doctor talking to a guy in a hospital bed. Obviously the doc missed Turn 3 and collided with the appendix.
And the guy in the hospital gown is smiling like an idiot.
Drugged out his mind, I think.
I get up slowly and walk with small, tight steps to the kitchen. Pouring another cup of Elixir, I start to relax.
I get back to the Chair in time for an air-freshener commercial but I'm not paying attention.
The Elixir has my mind looking elsewhere.
Aren't we glad He doesn't show us the growing process all at once? He shows us the light and a little of the process, step by step.
"Hey," He says, "This keeps coming between us. This thing here. Give it to Me."
We're brought into His family and, little by little, as we give more to Him, we become like Him.
He doesn't show us all at once. That would make us give up and run away -
as if we saw an anaconda with a headlight.