The waiting room

It’s interesting the way we can suddenly be equalized. I have been coming up the the hospital to sit with a friend, the one from the last blog. It doesn’t matter what people look like in a waiting room. The old or the young, the big or the small, the various languages spoken, the tattoo and pierced or the conservative, the bikers, hippies and preppies are all the same.
We smile nervously or compassionately at each other, listen (while we try not to listen) to intimate phone calls and conversations meant to update loved ones who have to be far away. We are all in the same place, especially in the ICU waiting room where loved ones are in critical condition. There is fear and faith, weeping and laughter, and prayer.
In times of crisis it seems as if prayer is no longer controversial, it’s comforting.
It’s the National Day of Prayer, so I will be praying with a grateful heart. I don’t have to hide my prayers or find a secret place. I can pray openly in the waiting room and know that my Father in heaven is listening, and if others in the waiting room hear, it’s okay, they don’t mind.

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