The scene: Yesterday, at the desk to check out after my appointment with my doctor in Norfolk. I waited for the woman to process my paperwork, her desk covered with other paperwork that nearly covered up her computer keyboard and mouse and phone. She set up my next appointment, and then affixed even more paperwork to what Dr. Flenner had given me, so I could get my lab work done. Hardly looking up, harried, seeming to be entirely distracted, she said, "Happy Holidays."

"Merry Christmas," I responded.

She stopped. She looked up and she said, "Thank you. I appreciate that!"

Then I went around the corner for the blood work that's required everytime I have an appointment with Dr. Flenner. (The anti-fungal medication is dangerous to the kidneys and liver, so he always wants blood work done to check how those organs are functioning.) The technician stuck her needle into my arm. That's never a pleasant thing!

"Did you get it?" I asked.

She said, "Sure did!"

I told her, "I remember one time, soon after getting out of the hospital, going to the hospital in Williamsburg, and they stuck one arm and couldn't find a vein and then they stuck the other arm and couldn't find a vein, and they had to stick the first arm again to finally got it done. Since then I pray that you'll get the vein on your first stick."

She said, "God answers prayer!"

I felt so good, after those two "witnessing" conversations -- using the most gentle of religious language, and receiving those responses from two people who turned out to be people of faith as well! (Both were African Americans. For the past 30 years, since working in an African American congregation on the south side of Chicago during seminary, I've found that African Americans are much more likely to use faith language than white folks.)