Heading into Friday's meeting with Pastor Ken Hutcherson I asked him if he performed any faith-healing, hoping he might fix my bum ankle. Alas no, Pastor Hutch informed me, mentioning something about how he would heal himself if he could. (Come to think of it, Hutch didn't look as physically robust as last we met.)

That said, a little more than an hour later, after some vigorous conversation and a couple of prayers, I walked out of the room markedly less hobbled than when I hobbled in, the ankle noticeably looser, allowing substantially more range of motion, and with less pain. I was feeling, dare I say, miraculously better. The ankle stiffened up a bit later that night, but the next day, with the aid of a good athletic brace and some supportive shoes, I was able to walk fairly comfortably without a cane, and even do a little gardening.

Now, I can't say for sure that it was Hutch's divine presence that made the difference. But one thing I do know is that our incredibly arbitrary and totally fucked up health care non-system certainly doesn't deserve any credit.