This story was written years ago. I share it now for anyone feeling alone in their struggle.
January 2004
During this past Christmas season, I was in Johns Hopkins pediatric ward with my daughter Claire who, four years prior, had been diagnosed with a progressive seizure disorder. We had grown into this knowledge, this new way of life but now it had put her in a virtual coma state. This year we had been through so much already, losing loved ones, cancer, surgeries, and now the seizures were skyrocketing. Sometimes life’s challenges can overwhelm you and make you feel so alone until you look up.
Claire had been in and out of Johns Hopkins many times that year and now we found ourselves here once again. After several days, it began to snow heavily with no signs of letting up. Her dad, Pat would not be able to come in that evening. I was feeling so frightened and ALONE, stuck in a snowstorm, alone at the hospital with my daughter who would not wake up. On top of my fears for Claire, I was selfishly missing Pat and our other precious daughters, my life; my normal.
We had the room to ourselves for most of the week and Claire slept so deeply that the room felt too quiet but then God sent us a visitor. It was a new little patient. She was about two years old with golden ringlets, beautiful and perfect! She had just had a cyst removed from her neck. Her parents explained that it could have been done in outpatient but they were being cautious. Her parents hovered over her, worrying about the bandage tape – Would it get stuck in her hair? Would the blood pressure cuff frighten her? Maybe daddy should put it on him first to reassure her.
I sat there watching this scene with Claire deep in her coma, not responding to me and I thought, “Oh! How beautiful! Please don’t leave or pull the curtain! Let me watch just a bit longer!” It reminded me of a time when I had a fairly “normal life”. It reminded me of life with my first child. Then, I had all the energy to do it right; to worry over the little things, to love so tenderly, to fix the boo-boos.
After a while they left for the cafeteria and I was alone again, or so I thought. I went to the window and looked out at the falling snow. Tears filled my eyes with the pain of feeling so alone. And then, I saw them; not one or two but hundreds of crosses in the steel grid framing of the hospital buildings; steel framework that held this whole big wonderful healing building together. I felt Jesus telling me that I was not alone. I felt Him say, “I am with you always. I surround you. You only need to look”.
I was so filled with happiness. I said, “Come on Claire! Let’s get out of here! I gathered her up, piled her in her wheelchair and hauled her sleeping body and IV pole down to the cafeteria, but this time, instead of looking down, I looked up and looking up, what did I see? Jesus everywhere!
It was Jesus, in the hands of the passing strangers that felt compelled to touch Claire’s head, Jesus, in the smiles of strangers that fell on me and my daughter. I saw people helping others, people answering questions, picking up a dropped napkin, offering help, kind words of thanks, everywhere, I saw Jesus. I was surrounded by His presence. For the rest of our hospital stay, I never felt alone again. I only felt incredibly blessed to be the mother of my children, sharing this life with my husband, living our normal life together as a family.
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