As I walked into the hospital this morning for my prayer rounds, my first thought was, "Please don't let my pants fall off."
I hadn't worn them in a few weeks and because of my stomach issues, I have lost the tiniest amount of weight which apparently was just enough for my pants to hang precariously from my hips.
But as I made my way to the volunteer room, I began my prayer to God. "Please God, remind me that this isn't about me. It's definitely not about my pants. Keep me humble. This isn't about saying the perfect prayer or making the perfect small talk with hurt and suffering patients.
"This is about--just being there."
That's all God wants from me, really, when it comes down to it.
That's what God wants from all of us.
Just be there.
Just be there for people.
This morning I visited a woman in the ICU. Her husband was there, but she seemed very confused and it was hard understanding her.
"I'm sorry you're feeling so poorly," I said to her because even though I couldn't understand her, I got the emotion behind her words, the labored breathing, the sleepy eyes.
I asked if she would like me to pray for her and she said, "I love God."
She asked if I would like to hold her hand and I told her I would if she wanted but that my hands were freezing.
So I held her hand, not too tight--I didn't want to hurt her and she seemed so fragile and then I began to pray.
After I finished, I didn't let go of her hand. I just stood there, looking her in the eyes, stroking her hand softly with my thumb.
"I love God," she told me again.
"And He loves you," I said back to her. "He's here right now. He has you."
It's not about the words, though.
It's about being there, because how in the world can we expect anyone to believe in a God who cares about them and is with them constantly, if we can't be there for each other?
Last week, I mentioned a young man who I'm going to call Adam. When I saw Adam last week, it was the second Saturday in a row that I had seen him and that always worries me when I have repeat patients
Adam was on my list again this morning--now the third Saturday in a row. And, on top of that, he had been moved to ICU.
I stepped into his room and he was sleeping and there was a woman curled up on the couch there, sleeping too.
For a minute, I just stood there, looking at Adam.
I didn't say a word. I just stood there in the silence.
When you pray for someone, you are stepping into that moment with them. You are stepping into their pain, their fear, their hurt--and you are saying to them, "You are not alone."
Sometimes the best prayers are wordless.
Just be there for someone today.
God bless.
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