Saturday, May 4, 2013

After the first rescue

On Sunday as I sat in the waiting room of the ER I tried to guess at the personal story of everyone waiting with me.  I could feel the tension of a few folks that must have been waiting on the big guy that coded 3 times in the room across from Isaac.  There was the poor woman that need about 3 stitches on her finger.  I remember thinking her wound would be healed by the time she worked her way up the line of triage.

There were people with a mild cough, 3 ladies with a set of twins - one of which looked like he (she?) had pinkeye, and a vagrant looking for a bed and breakfast by way of a stomach pain that kept him moaning in the corner with one eye on the nurses station and the other eye on the T.V.

The saddest face was the one on a septuagenarian who jumped up eagerly to greet her obviously anorexic daughter.  She had sat there patiently for 3 hours, reading with the practiced nonchalance of a women accustomed to noisy waiting rooms.  What really killed me was her look of relief as she stood facing her ugly, angry, shriveled up 50 year old child.  Clearly they were walking a well worn path, clearly they had played these roles for years.  The mother trying to put her arm around a woman who chose hunger as her only friend.  The arm was brushed away, but that loving arm swung back again each time as they left the hospital.

It made me wonder: what happened after the first rescue?  Did mom resign herself to anguish or align herself with unshakeable hope?  How often did she get the call?  Did 911 have her on speed dial?  How do you love an imploding heart that turns inward and slowly sucks itself dry?

"This is the gospel",  I thought.  This is Christ's love for me extended, reaching even as I brush it away.  I grasp at everything but heaven and as I look down at my handfuls of earth I realize that I am only dust and my only hope is in a God who is always there, stretching out His hand.

"When he falls, he will not be hurled headlong, Because the LORD is the One who holds his hand."  Ps. 37:24

I made this picture (notice I didn't say I drew it, lol) of my hand this week to put up in my bedroom as a reminder of my eternal grasping at things beyond my reach and God's eternal hand held out to catch me when I fall.


1 comment:

onlinephduk said...

The picture which you have put on the wall of your bedroom is inspirational. A hand reaching out for hope is a very moving symbol. It is a shame that sometimes no matter how much we reach out to others to lend a hand we are turned away. Everyone has to reach their own point in life when they are ready to accept help.



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