Today was a difficult day at the hospital. I've been having a tough time caring about this medicine sub-internship, which means that my write-ups and presentations and everything else have been pretty terrible. And it was a Sunday.

I've learned to deal with missing church on Sundays. It comes with the territory, and it will only get worse next year. But it's not yet next year.

As we were rounding on our patients, it seemed like all of them had their TVs turned to one of many brightly-dressed preachers, expounding on the kingdom of heaven. I don't know how I would feel if I was one of these veterans, sitting in a hospital with cancer or heart failure, wondering just how deep the treasure was hidden. I couldn't really listen, of course, not when I'm supposed to be paying attention to the sick. They're the ones who need a doctor. And I? I simply need healing.

As I was walking down the hallway, I heard singing. It was a quiet rumble of voices coming from the conference room - a disparate group sitting in desk-chairs, holding sheets of lyrics, and testifying. I looked over as I walked by and I saw amazing and I knew grace.