You have to experience it yourself
At the end of year 3 in medical school, I properly expected to fail. Why? Because I was not serious.
In the final weeks before the pros (short for professional exams), I was knocking on doors and begging to sit the exams. If you’re wondering what could have caused me to be in such a predicament, there was this pesky thing called ‘attendance.’
I had failed to meet the minimum lecture attendance required for medical students to take the pros. For my year 3 pros, there were six exams to do. I could have forgiven myself if I did not meet the requirement for one, or two exams. But hello, I was blacklisted for five exams!
For those five exams, my experience was horrific. I had a long streak of sleepless nights. Not because I was studying, but because I was swinging between hope and despair. I could not decide whether studying was worth it because I did not know if I would even be allowed into the exam halls. For leniency and permission to enter, I stalked and begged many lecturers until the very last days. And each day came with its own special punishment.
For example, my haematology & clinical pathology essay was a 3 hour exam. On exam day, I stood outside the hall with a group of fellow delinquents. We kept asking the gatekeeping lecturer to pardon us and let us in. Finally, the lecturer opened the doors. Praise be to God, right? Not so fast. The lecturer let us in, but the exam had started 2 hours ago!
It was a lost battle already. Nevertheless, I had two options. I could either concede defeat or make it epic. I figured, if I was a dead man already, I might as well go down swinging. So I asked the lecturer for answer sheets, picked up an empty chair, and went completely berserk. I did not stop to think, second-guess or double-check anything. I just kept glancing at the questions and writing non-stop. By the 3 hour mark, my sheets were peppered with barely legible ink marks and sweat. Even worse, I could neither feel nor unclutch my dominant hand from my pen.
The most interesting thing about this experience was not my rebellion against the impossible odds. It was the result. Specifically, it was how the news broke.
The most dreaded day in medical school is results day, if I can call it that. On average, it happens every 6 weeks after year-end professional exams. When results are released, everyone rushes to the foot of a big noticeboard to check for themselves and their friends. The noticeboard was usually at an admin block near the campus centre, while the student hostel was at the opposite end of the campus. Customarily, some students would march from the hostel to the admin block with a firm assurance of success. Most other students would not dare to be so sure. As for me, I had no doubt in my mind that I was finished.
On results day for year 3 pros, I could hear the mass hysteria in the hallways and stairs of the male hostel. I was in my room but I decided to stay in bed. I had already judged that if hope was a mirror, my image could never appear. After a few hours, the noise settled, and things seemed to be going back to normal. For me, this was a good time to go and assess the damage I had done to my life. I took an unusual route to the block to avoid meeting people and getting asked any questions. I just wanted to get there, confirm the bad news, and start making recovery plans.
Almost halfway there, I saw a friend whose matric number was next to mine. She was on her way back from the admin block. I could see her from a distance, and she could see me too. She was a bright fellow, so I was fairly certain she would pass the exams. The strange thing to me was that she kept smiling and waving as she approached me. I thought, “Surely she must have seen my results, so why is she still smiling?” Eventually, she came close enough for me to hear her say, “Dimeji congratulations!”
I thought she was crazy.
But I thought to myself “She knows my number. She can’t be making this up. She’s known my number since year 1. She can’t be joking. She’s not that kind of person.” She was genuinely not the kind of person to pull a dangerous prank on others. But I was also aware of how hopeless my situation was. On one hand, I believed her, but on the other, I could not believe that what she was saying was true.
Finally, I got to the admin block. I came close to the almighty board and started the search for my number. Then, I saw it. My number right next to hers. “There! I passed! I passed all the exams! Every single one! Holy cow!” I was overwhelmed with emotion. Six weeks of absolute hell had culminated in indescribable joy. Even though she had said to me, “Dimeji congratulations,” standing there in front of the board felt like I was just knowing it for the first time. It was at that moment I really believed, because I had now seen it with my own eyes.
Inasmuch as I survived this near-fatal experiment with truancy in medical school, reflecting on this experience drew my attention to something more interesting. It reminded me of the Samaritan villagers in the gospel of John. If you recall the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman, the lady ran back to her village to tell the people about Jesus. Notice what happens to the villagers in two distinct steps:
John 4:39 [NLT] Many Samaritans from the village believed in Jesus because the woman had said, “He told me everything I ever did!”
John 4:42 [NLT] They said “Now we believe, not just because of what you told us, but because we have heard him ourselves.”
The villagers believed the woman, but it was only after meeting Jesus they became certain that what she said was true.
Similarly, you may have heard about God all your life from other people. You may have heard many reasons to believe that God is real. You may have heard that God knows you, that He loves you, and that He wants a relationship with you. You may have heard this from your parents, peers, teachers, pastors or even total strangers. But there is one problem, and you know what it is.
You are not sure.
You are not sure if any of it is true. You have heard it time and again, but you are not truly convinced. Everything you know about God is what you have been told by others. So if you’re being honest, deep down, you are still skeptical about God. Your skepticism is causing frustration, and your frustration is making you lose faith. You want to believe it, but you are not certain that what you’ve been told is true.
Most people are like you. Because most people are also not sure. Even people who have climbed up a pulpit to preach a sermon. Many of them are also not sure. So do not be discouraged, because you are not alone.
To believe what I was told, I had to see my results. To believe what they were told, the villagers had to meet Jesus. The reason you are not sure is that you have only been told. Because to really believe, you have to experience it yourself.