Light, Love, Hope

A few short years ago my husband and I traveled to Nashville, Tennessee for our anniversary.  We visited Lower Broadway, which is known as the “Honky Tonk Highway.”  You could hear music up and down “music row” from 10 a.m. to 3 a.m. the next morning.  It was fun checking out the saloons with the different variety of music luring you in.

While we were there, we also checked out the statues of famous people and historic places.  I got a kick out of the statue of Little Jimmy Dickens.  We were literally the same height which I love!

One night, we were walking in downtown Nashville going to The Ryman Auditorium, which used to house the  original Grand Ole Opry House.  As we rounded the corner, we encountered an older lady in tattered clothing wearing a hat and oversized coat with matted hair.  She saw us eyeing another statue and talking of how we were going to take turns being in the pictures since we didn’t have anything to prop our phone up with.  The “selfie” wouldn’t be sufficient since we couldn’t get ourselves and all of the statue in the camera frame.  The lady walked up to us and offered to take our picture together with the statue.  My husband was reluctant, but I thought she was kind to offer so I held out my phone as I thanked her.  She smiled softly, snapped the picture of us, and returned my phone.  We small talked for a few minutes before she started to tell me her story.  She was homeless and used to live in the nearby parking garage.  As she continued on, she spoke of the horrible living conditions now on the streets of Nashville after the city officials ran her and several other homeless people out of the parking garage.  They were not even able to use the bathroom in there any longer.  As she talked, my heart truly went out to this woman and others like her.  I imagine not too many tourists stopped to have a conversation with her like we did.  But, there was something about her blue eyes that kept me standing right there in that spot listening to her story.  She never asked for money the entire time we spoke, but I reached into my wallet and pulled out some money to give to her, wishing I had more to offer.  She sincerely thanked me for the money, which would enable her to get a hot meal, especially as the temperatures were dropping.  As we walked away, my husband seemed somewhat disturbed and a little angry by the homeless scattered along the street.  He didn’t like them begging and didn’t understand why I even gave her the time of day.  That’s when I let him know that she never, ever asked me for money.  I am the one that offered money to her, feeling as if it was the very least I could do.  While I could understand his frustration with people loitering in the streets or simply sitting outside of businesses with signs asking for money, this lady was different.  In that moment, tears welled up in my eyes thinking of her heartbreaking story.  I’m sure as a little girl she didn’t dream of one day becoming a homeless lady roaming the streets of Nashville.  Life hasn’t been kind to her, and due to circumstances beyond her control, she found herself living on the streets.  What people fail to realize is that things could change in our very own lives, and we could be financially impacted, too.  We aren’t to sit in judgement, but, instead, we are to help where we can.  What if Jesus showed up in the form of this little old lady with blue eyes that grew dim due to the way life took a downward spiral when she least expected it?!  What if He was testing us to see where our hearts truly were and if we would be the hands and feet as we are called to be?!

Her blue eyes and dingy, matted gray hair haunted me long after we parted ways just outside of the Ryman Auditorium.  She was someone’s daughter!  MOST IMPORTANTLY, SHE IS THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF KINGS!   Life has been cruel to her, and I’m sure as much as my heart was breaking for her, she has felt broken, betrayed, and deserted by those who are supposed to love her.  Where is her family?  Oh Lord, why haven’t they taken her in?  My thoughts trailed to this and how we truly won’t ever know what happened to land her where she was on the streets of Nashville.  It isn’t our job to know the intricate details, either.  It’s our job to show love and kindness to those we meet along our path in life.

It’s been a few years now since this adventure lead us to this gentle soul.   My heart has not forgotten her, nor the lesson she taught us.   Be kind … and be the hands and feet of Christ when the opportunity presents itself … and it will, when you least expect it.

See the following scripture:

Mark 12:30-31 speaks of loving thy neighbor; Deuteronomy 15:11 speaks of taking care of the poor; 1 John 3:17 is where you will find passages regarding clothing the needy and feeding the hungry in Isaiah 58:10, right along with being hospitable to strangers in Matthew 25:35.   We are to care for the captive, the prisoner, and the oppressed, which we are told to do so in Hebrews 13:3 and Matthew 25:36.

Last, but certainly not least, we all need to be reminded of Matthew 25:40, “WHATEVER YOU DID FOR ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE BROTHERS AND SISTERS OF MINE, YOU DID FOR ME.”

I have never looked more forward to 7 a.m. than I did when my loved one was in the hospital after major surgery.  Two days of being in the hospital, day and night, with little sleep was wearing on the three of us.  We were looking forward to the doctor appearing in the doorway to advise whether today would be the day my loved one would be discharged.

With blurry vision, I saw a tall figure enter the room.  I sprang from the hard leather couch I attempted to sleep on, only to find it was the male nurse and not the doctor.  Trying to disguise my disappointment, we small talked about how our day was starting, then he disappeared into the hallway.

I walked over to retrieve the menu to order breakfast for the patient as we waited.  I dialed the number and gave the order to the friendly voice on the other end of the line.  Within minutes, the doctor entered with his hairnet, scrubs, and mask.  As he began speaking, he revealed today would be the day we got to leave, blow this joint, get out of jail, well, you get the idea.  We were free to go!!  Woo hoo!

Walking around the room, I gathered our belongings and packed them in the large black bag.  Then, we waited for the nurse to get the discharge papers ready.  They reminded us how busy they were and said it would be after lunch before they could discharge us.  We made the best of it by listening to music on my cell phone until they finally came back around with discharge instructions.  Shortly thereafter, we were wheeling the Burgundy Tahoe up to the circle driveway to retrieve our beloved, who was waiting in the parked wheelchair with a hospital volunteer nearby.  Pretty soon, the vehicle was packed, patient was seat belted in, and we were on our way home!  Thank you, Jesus!

On the morning of my loved one’s surgery, it seemed like anything that could go wrong did!  We were originally told to report at 9:00 a.m., then 9:15 a.m.  Driving from an hour away, you have to anticipate traffic delays, which we did.  However, another family member traveling with us had bathroom issues that delayed us further. Instead of hitting the interstate, we had to go the opposite way to find a bathroom.  Ugh!  We made it just in time but had to call the manager of Pre-Op/Recovery at the hospital to let them know we would not be arriving until 9:30 a.m.   With the surgery slated for 11:15 a.m., we were still good on the time.

Once at the hospital, we encountered one administrative staff after another policing us on the Covid restrictions in place.  I spent a solid week trying to get the Covid exemption so two members of the family could be present due to the wife of the patient having somewhat of a disability requiring my assistance in order to be present.  I sent an email to a man who helped us previously with another situation, and he circulated the email to the Vice President.  My email ended up making its way to the manager of Pre-Op and Recovery, to the doctor performing the surgery as well as to the charge nurse on the surgical floor.  The vice president agreed to allow a Covid exemption.  All medical staff were aware.  It was the administrative staff at the entrance of the hospital, information desk, and at the desk in Pre-Op/Recovery giving us trouble.  It was a fight when it did not need to be!  I had to give names of the staff who knew of the Covid exemption to get past the bulldogs.  Obviously, these people were left out of the loop on pertinent information pertaining to our unique case.  I tried to remain imperturbable through it all, but after the fourth person agrued with me over this, I admit my patience were wearing thin at that point.  It was almost as if these people took a class on being argumentative.  They must have all been straight A students for sure, if that was the case.

Waiting in the surgical lobby is stressful enough without all of this going on!  You wait to hear how the person is doing before, during and after surgery.  The medical team did a great job keeping us updated, which helped calm our nerves somewhat.

After learning he was out of surgery but having trouble waking up in recovery, I fought yet again with another of the administrative staff.  He was to be transferred to the sixth floor, and we were being directed to the floor not knowing if we would be allowed to stay with him in his room or not.  We were lectured about the Covid protocols and restrictions, even though we explained the vice president allowed an exemption for us so two people could be present under the unique circumstances.  It was truly tiring to fight this hard over something that was taken care of at a much higher level.

Once up on the sixth floor, though, we did not encounter any problems whatsoever from the nurses, the techs, etc.  All of the medical team were wonderful, and it reassured us that our loved one was in good hands.  They not once told us we couldn’t be there, didn’t lecture us and didn’t try to eject us from his room.  We were greeted with warmth and kindness.  He had to be in the hospital for two nights, and they made us feel as welcome as possible while we were his “guest” in the hospital.  This was certainly appreciated so I could focus more on caring for them between nurses making their rounds instead of arguing why I needed to be there in the first place.

One cannot rest in a hospital setting, so the first night it seemed the hands on the clock were barely moving at all.  I recall at 8 p.m. looking at the clock as he exclaimed in his medicated state, “It’s ONLY 8 p.m.?!  It’s going to be a LONG night!”  And it was …

By the second night, we were so wore out we all but passed out from exhaustion.  Stronger pain medicine was given to the patient, which allowed a good night’s sleep.  Their snoring was music to our ears, as we were so thankful their surgery was a success and they were still with us!