Hospital Gown for the Soul

Instead of shooting out a rapid verbal fire fueled by my usual well-stocked arsenal of not-so-well-thought-out answers, I do something quite out of ordinary.  

I slide the question right back into her court:

What do you think? What does a butt-naked soul look like to you?

Just like that. Then, I wait for the little Facebook notification letting me know I have a new message. I hope it's quick.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it couldn’t have been something revolutionary different from what I was already thinking. After all, Susan and I are so alike. Like two peas in a pod.

Maybe that’s why her answer blind-sided me so much.  Or perhaps, one can say that it opened my eyes to something I didn’t really see before we started our conversation.

This is what my dear friend, who, incidentally is recovering from a knee surgery even as I write this, said:

I'm still not quite sure how to define a butt-naked soul. Kind of like walking down a long hallway wearing a hospital gown that's two sizes too small.

Walking down a long hallway…

… wearing a hospital gown…

… that’s two sizes too small.

I don’t know about you, but this appears to me like a major paradigm shift.  

A shift that moves us from a theatrical stage to a hospital hallway. 

From performers with wardrobe malfunction to patients waiting for the arrival of the physician who alone can give the accurate diagnosis and prescribe proper treatment.  

From stage-lights and stardom to soul surgery.

What does a butt-naked soul look like to you?

I guess the answer utterly depends on who you ask.

It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick; I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners. Mark 2:17