Some medical conditions are much easier to diagnose than others. To determine whether one is pregnant, one simply needs to start with a testing kit and an urine sample. On the other hand, it takes a bit more experience and skill to diagnose irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). IBS affects tens of millions of Americans, with symptoms of crampy abdominal pain and abnormal bowel movements. As a pediatric gastroenterologist, I have seen thousands of children and teens with IBS, most of whom being referred to me after various combinations of negative laboratory tests, X-rays, ultrasounds and CT scans. The problem with diagnosing IBS is that this condition cannot be detected by routine tests, but only by asking the right questions, recognizing specific characteristics of reported symptoms, complaints and examination findings, and having sufficient information to confidently rule out other potentially serious disease. Most young physicians are quite nervous when confronted with the diagnosis of IBS, and they order many expensive tests for fear of missing cases of bowel obstruction, appendicitis, serious infection, or cancer. Seasoned doctors (at least those who have not been sued often), on the other hand, tend to order fewer tests as their abilities to positively recognize IBS are honed by years of practice and experience.
In addition to my ability to spot IBS in youngsters, I have also been sharpening my ability to identify unleashed animals in the dark, pre-dawn hours. While training for marathons, I often run around my neighborhood before sunrise, when most of the road traffic consist of stray cats and leashed dogs taking their owners for their morning walks. I soon learned to distinguish between a cat and an unleashed dog in dim light from a distance, using clues of their dark silhouettes and gait characteristics alone. If I see a cat, I need not alter my running in any way, as the cat will get out of my way. A dog without an owner, on the other hand, needs to be approached with caution, and I make sure that I maintain a safe distance from it while avoiding eye contact, lest I invite an awkward confrontation. Occasionally I would see a couple of cat-sized creatures that walk neither like cats nor dogs, and I take special care not to disturb them. They often turn out to be raccoons or opossums.
We often identify things by comparing them to certain profiles in our minds. As a physician, I evaluate patients and compare my findings with profiles of irritable bowel syndrome and various other conditions. When I run outside, I check my surroundings with profiles of cats, dogs, raccoons, potholes, and reckless drivers. In the same way, the Bible indicates that there is also a profile of what a Christian is like. The apostle John wrote,
Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. (1 John 4:7-8)
The greatest joy that I experience at work is not from patients and families telling me that I'm a good doctor, from diagnosing a rare disease, or even from praise by colleagues. It is from a few of my patients or their parents spontaneously declaring that I must be a Christian because they can tell by some manner of my speech, action or demeanor.
As ambassadors for Christ on earth, we are constantly having our profiles checked out by those around us. Do we fit the profile of the Christian in our daily lives?
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