After we both retired, Susan and I volunteered with Ronald McDonald House, where we were trusted to walk into rooms at Brenner’s Children’s Hospital to visit the families of kids who were suffering with crises. We loved the privilege of listening to the parents who needed to process their child’s present and future condition. We had ourselves experienced the changing reality of day to day hopes and fears. We had learned that the only reality that exists in that hospital room is the only reality that matters. Here is one story:
Susan and I walked into a room at the Neonatal Unit in Brenner’s Children’s Hospital the other day, where we encountered a mother closely holding her 3-month old son lying across her shoulder. She sat in silence gently rocking her son as he slept. We introduced ourselves and commented about how wonderful it must be to hold her baby so closely. “Today must be a good day.” The mother did not look up or respond. She was immersed in the moment of intimacy. We asked again whether today was a good day. She continued rocking, and then we noticed tears streaming down her face. You see, her baby had not been responsive since birth. At birth he didn’t get sufficient oxygen to his brain for his organs to develop or survive. The doctors questioned how much brain activity there would ever be. He was not expected to live very long. I didn’t know what was going on in this mother’s head, but I knew that all she knew to do was to keep rocking and holding her baby. We stood there with her for a couple of minutes in Holy silence. We wondered how this mother must have felt about her baby who would never grow up to fulfill her hopes and dreams. How could she ever forgive God? We stood there, and then Susan put her hand on her shoulder and reassured her that she was doing the only thing that a mother could do, to love and hold her baby.
As we left the room, I paused outside the room for a few moments to pray and reflect on what had just happened. “What the hell are you doing, God?” I yelled in anguish. “Why?” I was broken by what we had experienced. There were no consoling words, no answers, no medical cure. We could not offer any hope for this mother. We could only stand beside her as fellow sufferers and as ambassadors for Christ. This was all God expected us to do, to be present.
In time I came to thank God for this moment, a moment that only God gives us to be present in his midst, to stand in his love and to reach out in his name. For more than six years Susan and I visited rooms at Brenner’s every week; this one was by far the most special and memorable. We are privileged to be his children and to be present in a world that needs Jesus Christ.
Chester David
An excerpt from my new book, Reshaping Broken Pottery. available at Lulu Bookstore. https://www.lulu.com/search?sortBy=RELEVANCE&page=1&q=reshaping+broken+pottery&pageSize=10&adult_audience_rating=00
The Divine Potter 