Periodicals; Mormons; Religious thought; Philosophy and religion
Independent national quarterly established to express Mormon culture and examine the relevance of religion to secular life. It is edited by Mormons who wish to bring their faith into dialogue with human experience as a whole and to foster artistic and scholarly achievement based on their cultural heritage. The journal encourages a variety of viewpoints; although every effort is made to insure accurate scholarship and responsible judgment, the views expressed are those of the individual authors and are not necessarily those of the Mormon Church or of the editors.
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Rees, Robert A.
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The Clinic I i$j off of the stove on top of him. And you might want to talk to Dr. Franceman. He delivered a blind baby boy Thursday. The mother is thirty-five and has four children. Her husband infected her with gonorrhea. You remember Kelly Tolman, he played basketball for B.Y.U. about six years ago. He's in intensive care with a fractured skull and two broken legs. He apparently fell asleep driving back from Salt Lake Wednesday night, sideswiped a semi-truck, and killed his wife. Some car accidents can even be worse than a hand grenade or a mortar shell." Dr. Jensen looked at the gold-framed pictures. His son's name had been David. "You didn't start to drink or go on drugs, and you didn't sleep with any Vietnamese whores." "No, I just killed people." "Don't ever become a surgeon." "They save lives." "No, they just prolong them, sometimes." Dr. Jensen looked down at his open hands. "You saw old Ralph Simmons on his crutches." Dr. Jensen nodded toward the pile of manila folders. "He's got diabetes and I had to amputate his leg below the knee four months ago, but I didn't go high enough. Now I've got to take as much of his leg as I can." Dr. Jensen slowly closed his hands. "You can't love or forgive yourself enough, Steve, and nobody else can either, although they can help. All of us need somebody like Jesus Christ for that. At least it's the only answer I've found that makes any sense." Dr. Jensen sat looking at his closed hands, and then the phone rang. "I'll be there in ten minutes," he said, and hung up. Dr. Jensen stood up, unbuttoned his white jacket, hung it on the chrome coat tree, and put on his suit coat. He closed Steve's manila folder and set it on the pile. "Get this prescription filled at City Drug. They make it for some other patients of mine. You might as well get used to that burning during this hot weather, but you'll be a lot better off if you don't scratch it." The neckline of Dr. Jensen's garments showed through his white shirt. He wrote on the pink charge slip. "There's no charge, Steve. Use the money for school next month." "I have money." "I know that. Try to accept things people want to give you. And here's some more advice. Start going to church. You're not better or worse than most of us. And get married. You need to hold a girl in your arms for about six weeks to thaw you out." Steve walked down the hall ahead of Dr. Jensen. "Say hello to your mom and dad for me." He turned to Mrs. Anderson at the desk and gave her the pink slip. "There's no charge on Steve." "Yes, Doctor Jensen." "Goodbye, Steve. I'm glad you're home." He shook Steve's hand. "I'll be at the hospital, Mrs. Anderson." Carrying his black bag, he walked across the waiting room and down the foyer steps. "Dr. Jensen is a wonderful man. We need more in the world like him. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for the Church." "No, I guess there isn't." "You weren't wounded or anything were you, Steve? I suppose I would have heard if you had been."