As I spent the first day of 2016 in instacare for 3 hours, I was given plenty of time to think. I was up most of the night coughing and not getting much sleep, so my time scrolling through social media feeds drained my phone battery….and so there I sat. With a dead phone. In a room full of sick people.
I imagine this would have been the end of the world for most people, but I was secretly thrilled, despite feeling like crap. You see, I love to observe. People-watching is one of my favorite things to do. The writer in me begins to analyze the emotions etched across each face, and spins up thoughts that are spiraling in their minds and words between whispered conversations.
In a room full of sick patients, I saw one thing more clearly than all others.
There were babies crying, little kids complaining of sore throats, and exhausted parents trying to comfort them. There were strangers smiling and offering words of encouragement and understanding. There was gratitude that doctors were available. There was patience and kindness. (Yes, there were a few people who got frustrated about the wait time and left….But isn’t that how it always goes?)
When my name was finally called, I was led back to an exam room. And then I was left to wait again. Luckily, it wasn’t long.
A knock sounded at the door. I looked up. The man who walked in wasn’t just an average doctor. He was a friend.
Dr. Frank was my pediatrician when I was just a little kid. And here he was again! He seems to show up in my life during a lot of crucial moments. The last time I had seen him was five years ago in instacare, when I finally gained enough courage to be pulled from the darkness eating me away. He had been there to extend a hand and lift me when I didn’t have enough strength to do it myself. And here he was again.
We spent a few minutes talking about life and the events that had brought us to where we were. He offered some advice and encouragement, prescribed a method to fix my current illness, and hugged me goodbye.
Looking back on that day, I now see a lot of parallels.
Picture the people as they wait to catch even a glimpse of Christ’s robes as he passes by. Some of them are hoping for miracles. For prayers of healing. For a glimmer of faith to know that things are going to be okay. Pain. Suffering. Exhaustion from dealing with the challenges that accompany mortality.
Do we recognize how often the “waiting rooms” of life are filled with children of a loving God, who are hoping for healing? Do we take time to look around and see all that needs to be done? Or are we too busy feeling sorry for ourselves, wishing those cries would be silenced so you could get some rest from the pain you suffer?
Lift where you stand. Be his hands and do his work.
When you hear that knock on the door and look up, who will you see?
Or a friend?
Will you recognize the healer when he comes?
Life is often hard. Actually, it is more challenging than easy about 99.9% of the time. Depending on how you choose to follow the prescription of a gentle, loving friend, the balms of healing will be more or less effective. He is ALWAYS willing to share guidance, medication, encouragement, and a hug.
It is OUR decision whether to follow through and take the prescription to the pharmacy and get it filled or not.
What a comfort to know that I have a friend who is patiently, constantly offering methods to overcome my current illnesses right on the other side of this “waiting room.” He cares about what events and circumstances have brought me to his feet, pleading for healing and help. No matter how many times I become sick, He never draws his hand back. I hope I will always recognize a friend when He walks through the door.
On January 1st, I glimpsed a tiny bit of heaven in that waiting room. I will be forever grateful that my phone died just in time to see it. I challenge you to look around and see the healer in everything surrounding you this year. He is there. He lives, and “his hand is stretched out still.”
Hang on. Trust his love and allow him to help you. He will carry you when you cannot do it on your own.
Wishing you strength and healing in 2016.
XOXO – Heath