“Be ready to tell anyone who asks why you believe as you do. Be respectful." ~ 1 Peter 3:15
The woman in the hospital bed next
to Jonah’s wife, Elle, was loud, cranky, and demanding. Years of drug abuse had reduced her to a ghost
of her former self. Tooth decay, body odor, and legions of open sores suggested
a serious meth addiction from which she was detoxing.
As a cartoon character does, she reveled in anger; lost in
the moment and the torture her brain suffered. She became enraged when declaring:
“No one listens to me. I know my body better than y’all. I just need some "Ice" (slang for crystal meth).
The patient was testing Elle’s
patience. One more outburst and she swore she'd find an illegal use for Angie’s
pillow. She knew it wasn't entirely her fault, but her existence had become
little more than an extended nightmare until the sweet angel of death came to whisk
her away.
No friends, no calls, no flowers, no family. Elle had 4
beautiful bouquets, 17 get-well cards, and a constant flow of visitors sharing
love and encouragement.
Suddenly, Angie cried out. “Help … anyone! Why am I here? I
want my lawyer! I need to talk with a priest, she shouted bitterly.
Jonah got up from his chair and
approached the maniacal woman. He sensed her chest tightening; a quiet rage
building from within.
"Mam,” he offered politely. “I’m no priest but I’m a
good listener, and in times like these we could all use a friendly ear. He
rested his hand on Angie’s, feeling the coldness in her fingers. She pulled away,
then turned toward the window.
"You don’t have to talk to me. If you’d rather talk
directly to God that's OK," he said kindly.
At his words, Angie rolled back toward him, a mere shadow of
the woman she once was. Yet her eyes offered free passage into her soul. She
smiled apologetically and settled right down.
Jonah held her hand and prayed for healing, then silently
prayed for her deeper needs. Angie liked the way he prayed - earnestly and
informally, in a deep, rich voice that put her at ease in a way she couldn’t
explain. For the next week, when he visited his wife, she called him
“Father.”
Spiritual help had been given in a narrow five-minute
window. Maybe now her recovery could begin, inspired by nothing fancier than a warm
smile and comforting words.
The stories God writes for us
take us down various paths. No matter where you are on the journey, there’s a
plan and a purpose to what you experience. If you’re struggling, take comfort
in knowing you’re never alone. He’s always
listening.
Father God, caregiving may last only five
minutes. But You surpass time. By the
power of Your Holy Spirit, help me answer anyone who asks about my faith
in You with gentleness and reverence. Amen
