The Velvet Hammer of Uncertainty; A Violent Hope, and Imaginary Theology

Blackness reaches its long arms toward me, as the sun slips behind the mountains.  Reaching me, it wraps it's cloak around me and attempts to smoother me with the velvet hammer of uncertainty.  Arriving at the hospital, I am very aware that I am entering in a place with many uncontrollable variables.  This is a place where physical life and death are daily occurrences.  It is a place where pain precedes healing, and loss often leads to scars. 

Reluctantly, I shuffle towards the receptionist, like a child being sent to the principal's office, I'm not sure what the outcome of this current visit will be. Not being a stranger to this facility, all my

electronics automatically find their signals; security guards give me the head yank in recognition; and in an instant, I am swept back into the inner belly of the emergency room.  

There is an odd sense of relief that washes over me.  I am no longer in charge.  I have come to a place where the only thing I have to offer is a violent, relentless hope and trust in those that, once again, are holding the life of someone that my heartstrings are woven around.  

My imaginary theology surfaces and  tells me that elaborate prayers are best.  It screams that He will hear me best if I use eloquent words.  It tries to persuade me to plead my case.  

Attempting to believe this pseudo theology, I reach for words....but there are none. Minutes slide by, like a slug moving from one rock to another, leaving a trails of slime.  My words are pointless, and fake. They leave an offending odor. I give up and simply whisper, "Help".  Nothing else.  "Help".

If you think an ER waiting room is a comfortable place to spend the night, you are six shades of wrong.  Fear has reached it's unwelcome tentacles up my throat and taken hold of my heart.  Like an octopus turning it's prey around in anticipation of

a delicious meal, fear is preparing to consume me. Hot salty tears spill over and silently slide down my checks.  Glancing around, no kleenex is available.  Exhaustion is consuming my physical body.  I perch on my solid wooden chair and wonder if any of the rest of these people in the waiting room are standing on the precipice of life and death with a loved one.  If so, how many times have they stood here?  I have stood here too many times to count with different family members. 

Suddenly, a nurse slides onto a chair next to me. Handing me several extra soft tissues from her

pocket, she says nothing.   Moments slip by. Offers of water and nourishment are made.  This angel is a familiar nurse who is on her "lunch" break at 2:30 am and has chosen to "be" with me. Departing, I find the strength to push the words, "thank you" out from between my lips.  It is a "thank you" both to the nurse and my Creator who heard my plea for "Help"! 

It is now 6:00 am.  Tonight time has stood still in the ER, but for the rest of people in the place I reside on this planet, sleep was their companion and they are awakening ready for a new day. Time has not stood still for them.  

Hospitals are places where time is irrelevant for those inside the walls.  It is like another dimension and ONLY those that are inside are aware that all else is striped away and only physical life and death remain.  Often times, in order to be able to continue living, sacrifices and loss must be accepted.  Scars are the reminders of the loss and that the gift of this physical life has been extended. Why do I keep forgetting all of this AND that life is temporary at best? 

Shuffling into the house, the safety of my bed beckons to me.  I crawl into the welcoming layers of my private nest and allow my lids to slid shut. My eyes are closed, and I am wrapped in His presence.  However, unfortunately, someone forgot to tell my mind that it was done and the crisis was over.  So....my mind proceeds and is turning over the similarities between hospitals and churches (the body of Christ). Both deal with life and death.  Both should be safe havens for those who are in need.  Both should be equipped with staff that are willing and trained to assist the sick and injured.  Both are places where pain precedes healing and surrender must occur in order to live.  Both are places where those visiting often have a high level of uncertainty, fear, and exhaustion.  Maybe just like the "Silent Angel" that sat with me, we as the body of Christ, need to slid in next to someone in need and hand them a tissue?

Until We Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

Necklace, Tats, and Ms. T. “Sacred Moments”

Necklace, Tats, and Ms. T.

“Sacred Moments”

Written by the Plank-eyed Girl

April, 2013

   Silence fills her car as I drive it towards the unknown destination.  It is an address on a sticky note.  I am in a foreign state; unknown city; and odd place. My thoughts are like a dragonfly on steroids, zipping wildly through my brain.  Unable to direct them or even pause them and too tired to care, I just let the cacophony play.  Unlike a beautiful symphony, the chorus is dissident and erratic.   It makes my head pound, but I can’t stop it.  The vehicle reaches the destination that I was instructed to go to.  Automatically,  I get out of the car and hesitantly walk toward the only door in sight. 

   It’s a bare room with a couple of stiff, scratchy, hardened chairs and an old beige phone on the wall.  Glancing around, I am instructed by a small laminated paper tacked to the wall, to pick up the phone.  A bouncy voice greets me and I struggle for words.  With the comfort of a cowboy who is mounting his horse after a long vacation, the voice instructs me to go to the only other door and enter.  (How many times a day and night does this voice greet us who are scared and confused?)  I say nothing.  Somehow the phone finds its way to the receiver and I turn towards the door.  Entering, the intake nurse rises to greet me like an old friend.  Immediately I can feel myself deeply exhale.  I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath.  Everyone in this small room hears it and the awkward silence turns to a nervous laugh. 

I find myself in a chair next to the precious one.   Grateful for her and the fact she didn’t succeed.  Grateful for another chance at life.  Grateful that she is allowing me to walk with her through this.  She takes my hand and I instantly start caressing the top of her hand, like when she was a young one.  Suddenly my eyes are darting around the room, finally landing on the intake nurse’s necklace.  It is a cross.  My doubtful heart screams, really?  My eyes continue their journey and come to rest on the nurse’s forearm.  I can feel the tears starting to pool in the corners of my eyes.  I can’t seem to make my eyes change focus.  They have landed on a tat that says, “truth”.  It is large.  It is colorful.  It was purposefully unhidden.  The second “T” is made into a cross.”  My hand automatically springs to my check.  Clear liquid is cascading down my cheeks.  The precious one traces my gaze with her eyes and sees what I am seeing.  She has always been observant. She gently smiles a knowing smile.  God has reached into this moment and declared that He is with us.

   Each day is blending into the other.  I have no “normal” anymore.  Friends call to check on me.  Oddly, I am yearning for them just to talk at me about “normal” things.  I don’t have words to explain all that is going on.  I shove the thoughts out of my consciousness. 

   It is Friday morning and I want to thank the precious one’s colleagues.  I gather the treats and make my way to the facility and the people that she loves.  Entering, I am warmly received.  Seconds into the visit, a hand softly takes my elbow and I am steered out into the courtyard.  Ms. T sits me down in the gazebo and firmly states, “He’s got this!”  Without even skipping a beat she proceeds to launch into sharing the gospel with me and telling me that she has taken the precious one under her wing and is basically a surrogate mother to her.  Time seems to stand still and I am aware that in these moments, I am witnessing an answer to my petition over the last year.  Ms. T is the passionate pursuer of my God who has been walking alongside the precious one.  I stop her mid-sentence.  She quietly asks me if I am okay.  With barely an audible whisper, I squeak out, “You are the one that I prayed for all those days and nights!”  We hug and there is an unspoken awareness that this is a sacred moment.  God has reached into this moment and declared that He is with us. 

   Three hours have elapsed since being escorted to the conference room of this locked down facility.  My companions have been Dr. N and Mrs. B.  I have addressed all the milestones of the precious one’s childhood; teen years; and young adult journey.  They have listened and Dr. N has scratched notes.  At the three hour mark, we pause.  I am exhausted.  I don’t know what else to say.  Dr. N.  breaks the silence and states, “I believe she has been misdiagnosed.  Let’s go through some markers again.”  He states a marker, I give an example from the precious one’s journey thus far.  Out of the 35 markers, she has 33.  Mrs. B. raises her gaze from the table and says, “YOU are an incredible mother.  YOU have done everything right.  If it wasn’t for you and your husband, she would not be as high functioning as she is.”  A look of puzzlement streaks across my face.  The doctor catches the look and interjects, “She is a high-functioning Asperger’s”.  My jaw hits the top of the table.  My thoughts start racing again.  “How could I have missed this?”  “What kind of mother am I.”  Dr. N’s voice breaks through and I realize that he is speaking to me.  Regaining control of my voice, I hear myself say, “It all makes sense now!”  I am numb.  I am relieved.  I am confused.  I am exhausted and wish for arms to hold me tonight.  Dr. N and Mrs. B stand up, evidently the meeting is over and I am left to digest this myself.  Mrs. B walks me toward the locked double doors.  She is saying something to me, but I don’t hear her.  We get to the doors and she pauses, touches my arm and says, “Crystal, I have a 17 year old daughter who is a high-functioning Asperger’s.  You are not alone.  YOU have done a good job and showed amazing strength.”  Our eyes are locked on each other and I realize the clear liquid is slipping silently down my cheeks again.  She gently wipes my cheek and once again I am aware that God has reached into this moment and declared that He is with us.

   These are the things that have peppered my week with the sacred moments of God's amazing presence.  He uses ordinary people, in ordinary jobs, to be His hands and feet to those He brings along.  You may NEVER know the full extent of the impact of your actions and words on strangers and friends, but know that He using you! 

May we never walk alone.

I am with you on this journey!

~The Plank-Eyed Girl