While my sister is in the hospital, seriously ill, I take walks just to exercise my legs and get the numbness out of my behind (those hospital chairs are hard after the first hour of sitting). I make my way to the chapel to pray, the gift shop to look, or to the cafeteria to find something that looks appetizing to eat.
I see people...so many people coming and going…the revolving doors spinning and swooshing with entering and exiting people of all sort, color, size and demeanor. I watch and see that some are walking quickly, and some very slow as though they dread taking the next step. Some look so weary, and others stressed and anxious. Some are happy and laughing, while others seem lost, forlorn. Many are alone, while others are with entire families all pressed together as though competing for the same space.
As I look around there are people crying and talking quietly with family trying to pull comfort and assurance from each other. Some are excited that a recovered loved one or a precious new baby are going home….hands filled with flowers, balloons, and stuffed teddy bears.
The physicians often walking together, heads lowered, whispering, like white cloaked nuns...while trying to gather much wisdom, knowledge and understanding from each other.
Nurses…never sitting still, moving quickly, bird like from room to room. Transporters navigating the large gurneys with machines and hoses attached to the one lying so still, wrapped tightly in blankets like a large white cocoon. Cleaning people pushing what looks like a large animal with circular paws and plastic bags for arms with a multicolored feather duster for its tail.
Lights, noise, disembodied voices calling someone or for something, background noise of talking, moving machinery, shuffling feet, cell phones, and the robotic voices at automatic doors and the elevators…..never ending sounds of life being cared for.
Hard to rest, hard to think, hard to pray. When we received the worst news of my sister’s condition, I was able to leave to walk…this time to shed some tears. I headed for the chapel but instead found a quiet corner next to the small water fountain near the main entrance.
As I was sitting there looking out the window, thinking, praying and crying….I heard the most wonderful music. Soft and melodious, something like the tinkling sounds of a waterfall...so soothing. I looked over and 20 feet away, sitting on the other side of the water fountain was an elderly man playing a portable, miniature harp.
Arthritic hands with curled fingers and brown spots contrasting with ivory transparent skin softly flowed and moved up and down the strings of the harp bringing forth such sweet sounds. His face was so serene; you could tell he loved being part of music so lovely, so quiet, and so soothing to the soul. He volunteers…no pay, no reason to be there…other than to serve and to touch hearts that need something beautiful, something quiet, something soft and calming that will make them sit a rest awhile.
With tears running down my face, I thanked God for this moment of quiet…not alone, but yet alone in my corner, with the water fountain and a gentle man using his gifts and talents for nothing but to being joy and delight to others who may be needing this small window of escape from the harsh realities of their lives.
I looked over and saw a few others taking in what I was taking in...one bearded, very burly type man moved away from his talking family to sit alone, close his eyes and listen.
God never ceases to amaze, comfort and delight me. He knows what I need…long before I know…if I ever know. This was only a short 30 minutes in the lobby of a busy large hospital…and yet…God met me there….with space, quiet, and a gentle man playing wonderful soft music…whom I will probably never meet this side of heaven.
I listened until he was done…and as he packed up his beloved instrument, I went to the chapel…ready to praise the God and Father of my Savior Jesus Christ for always providing the very thing I need to gather me closer to Him.
Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort 2Co 1:3
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