The Medical Missionary

At the time, Erick never figured that his decision would set the vocational trajectory of Brandon’s life. It just seemed at the moment the right thing to do.

The moment happened late Friday morning before the beginning of the winter semester. Erick Patterson was trudging against a blizzardly wind through a foot of fresh snow on his way to the campus bookstore. He intended to purchase the concert tickets after buying a chemistry textbook. Last night Jessica had said, “Yes, I’ll go. How did you know I love Neil Young’s music?” He had walked back to his dorm, humming “Old Man.”

Inside the overheated bookstore, students in bulky coats and down jackets balanced armloads of textbooks as they shimmed passed one another through the narrow aisles. Long lines of students waiting in front of cashiers’ stations shuffled through muddy little puddles. Erick pulled his old wallet from the torn pocket of his blue parka and recounted the cash. He neither carried credit cards nor received an allowance from his parents for his education. Erick was on his own, twenty-four years old and without family. He had just enough money for the chemistry book and the two concert tickets.

The chemistry books were stored on shelves in a dim, out-of-the-way corner of the store. In front of the bookshelves, Brandon was cradling a big chemistry book while chewing on a fingernail. “Buying a book?” asked Erick.

“First assignment is due Monday morning,” Brandon said. He was wearing a black wool overcoat that hid his short, overweight body, a soft-appearing, black scarf—probably cashmere—and a red baseball cap with the bill pulled down, hiding his fleshy face. He could hide a few more pounds under that big coat and no one would ever notice, thought Erick.

Like Erick, Brandon was a pre-med student. He drove a BMW Z4 Roadster and carried platinum Visa cards; he tossed around the cash his parents sent him weekly. His father was some famous surgeon in Baltimore. The family had two homes—one on Chesapeake Bay; the other, someplace on the west coast of Ireland. At least that was Brandon’s story.

“Ninety-eight dollars for a book? What a rip-off,” declared Brandon.

“I thought you had money,” said Erick.

“Last semester. But my dad came down on me during the Christmas break and cut up my credit cards and cut down my allowance. I was able to pay this semester’s tuition, my rent, and you know, get some new CDs and stuff, so I’m kind of short this week. I thought the book was going to be like twenty dollars.”

Erick wasn’t surprised that Brandon’s father had turned down the money faucet. Everyone in their InterVarsity Bible study wondered when Brandon’s parents would discipline his overspending. “You can’t pass the class if you don’t have a book,” said Erick.

“And if I don’t pass this class, my dad will murder me.”

“Wish I could help.”

“Well . . . bro. . . . what if you put my book on your credit card. I could pay you back next month. That would work for me.”

“I’m not doing credit cards while I’m in college,” said Erick with reluctance.

“All right, man,” said Brandon. He returned the textbook to the shelf and toddled away.

Erick took a chemistry book and clutched it under his arm. What if he helped Brandon? Would it do any good? Sure, his father was trying to teach the boy a lesson. But it wouldn’t hurt to loan him the money for a chemistry book. He’d still have to pay it back. Erick touched the leather wallet in the pocket of his parka. He needed this textbook. He desired to be with Jessica more than anything, and he already had plans to take her to the concert. No, he wasn’t going to give up his plans for someone he barely knew—even if he was a Christian brother. Let Brandon learn his lesson. That’s what God would want for him. Erick removed his hand from the pocket. He wove his way through the aisles to the check-out counters.

Students waiting in the long lines to purchase books created momentary couples and impromptu small groups. A cacophony of excited conversations, punctuated occasionally by a squeal of high-pitched laughter, tumbled through the stuffy air. As Erick took a place in line, he noticed Brandon browsing the music CD display. A sad desire gripped Erick’s heart. He closed his eyes. “God,” he prayed, “please guide me.”

A tanned, fidgety guy behind Erick stepped on his heel, so he slid his snow-encrusted boots ahead in unison with the wet, white sneakers in front of him. In the neighboring line, a woman with wavy black hair holding an iPod swayed rhythmically; a tall, silver-haired gentleman wearing a black trench coat patted his high forehead with a white handkerchief. Brandon was still at the CD display, turning a CD back and forth in his hands. Erick took a deep breath, drummed his fingers on the cover of the chemistry book, and exhaled with a snort. If he stepped out of line, he would lose his place. Brandon wouldn’t ever pay him back, anyway. Jessica was excited about the concert.

The lanky guy in front of Erick took a long step to the cashier’s counter. Erick was next. He stared at Brandon, imagining that the stare was burning the nape of his neck, arresting his desire, paralyzing his hand. Oddly, Brandon placed the CD back in the rack, glanced around as if caught stealing, and then walked in the direction of the chemistry books. Erick wagged his head and stepped over the yellow line.

He tossed the chemistry book on the counter and handed two fifty-dollar bills to the cashier. His wristwatch read eleven thirty. He could still make it to the student union ticket window before it opened. Maybe he would not have to wait in another long line. He snatched up the heavy plastic bag and joined the throng of students pushing through the front doorways.

Outside, snow was slicing sideways through the gray air. An invisible, frigid curtain embraced him at the edge of the store’s awning. Erick stepped away from the tramp of foot traffic coming and going through the store’s doorways and turned up the collar of his parka. The wind stung his cheeks. As he stepped back under the awning, he noticed Brandon pushing his way through the crowd and then stand, frozen, a few feet away, looking up into the blizzard. He didn’t move, but just stared upward.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew Brandon’s baseball cap from his head. The red cap danced and twirled and came to rest in front of Erick. He picked up the cap and held it out toward Brandon, whose red-cheeked face, when he noticed Erick, suddenly displayed the expression of a guilty bulldog. Erick didn’t move; he just held out the hat. So Brandon, as if pushed by the wind, stumbled toward Erick, and then slid on a patch of ice and threw his arms out, making snow angels in the air, until he landed at Erick’s feet. Erick reached down to help Brandon up, and as he stood, a big hardbound book fell from beneath his overcoat and splayed out in the snow. Brandon stood there staring at his feet. “Oh, man,” he said with a sigh. “I really blew it.”

Erick lifted the book from the snow, brushed the flakes from the cover, and tried to straighten the bent corner. A painful desire rose up in his chest. Erick closed his eyes a moment as he recognized what he was being called to do. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then he let go of his most precious desire. He yielded his cherished plans. “I’ll loan you the money,” he said. Together they went back into the bookstore, and Erick paid for Brandon’s chemistry book. Brandon shook Erick’s hand and said, “Thanks for rescuing me. . . . You know, it’s about time I start getting my life together.”

“God gave me a new start,” said Erick.

Brandon nodded. “Maybe I could do something meaningful with my life.”

—Jonathan Rice is an editor and writer at InterVarsity’s National Service Center in Madison, Wisconsin.