The Saturday Journal: The Lobby
His chest raises with each breath. He snores slightly. And not far away, a woman sobs.
It’s a place that never sleeps. Never rests. 24/7. Seven days a week.
She has a faded thin hospital blanket and lays her head down. Her purse—she uses for a pillow. And bandages cover the top of her feet.
I am among the hurting, broken, weary. And we are trying to make it through the night--all in need of rest—sleep—hope.
She covers her head to keep the light from blinding her sleep. And she’s still. She doesn’t move. How I wish I could fall asleep that fast. Here, in this place. With that kind of peace.
And this young girl—she looks at the board and another family member draws close and she points and says I think that’s him right there. Him—a number on the board with a color beside his number. Preparing for surgery. Patient in surgery. Patient in Recovery.
The clock strikes 4am and my sister messages me. The doctor came out of surgery and says our family member is top priority—next—after the gun shot victim.
The room is getting louder. More hugs and tears and family and friends surrounding the sobbing woman. She quiets and smiles.
I heard her say, the victim—her loved one—he was trying to be the peacemaker and instead he was shot to pieces—five times to be exact.
And this humble employee working the late night shift comes out of her office and she asks, anyone in need of a blanket?
Lord knows we all need some warmth, some comfort.
It’s thirteen minutes since the last time I looked at the clock. Yawns are coming more frequent now—
And scenes of war and protest blare from the big screen.
I wrote down two Bible verses to give to the woman—the one with grieved eyes.
1 Peter 5:7, Cast your care upon Him for He careth for you.
Psalm 34:18, He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.
And before I could give her the written Word, a nurse appeared—searching for a family—his family—the gun shot victim. They stand and their countenances —they change from fear to hope. And they rush back to where he is—to see their miracle.
It’s almost daylight now. It’s been a night of no sleep. I look out and the dawning of a new day is here and all I see is concrete and gray skies.
The sliding glass doors open and in walks college students, all dressed in black and gold scrubs—proudly wearing an "A" for their university on their uniforms. They've traveled a long distance from the mountain to learn more—become more—serve more.
And other health care workers--one by one walk in wearing their shrubs, carrying backpacks, and coffee mugs and they smile—some wave to their co-workers—Good morning! Good morning!
On any given day gut punches come—leaving us numb—in despair. The hard hits come out of nowhere. No warning. No signs. And some may look across this lobby and think—those who’ve been here all night--tired--worried--worn—and they may believe—even accept, we all have a reason to disagree—shout back—no, it’s not a good morning!
But it is.
It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23
We spend our years as a tale that is told.
Psalm 90:9
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