May this make you think,
Jen
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"Hey, stay with me. Stay with me ma'am." Tears were in his eyes as the woman whom he had known for years lay on the floor, bloody and half-conscious.
The glass in her eyes would certainly cause her to be blind, and he didn't even want to think of what the head wound could cause.
"Miss, Miss Almeda, come on, please stay with me now."
She took his hand, shakily and with energy that she couldn't afford to spend. "Scott, I'm alright."
"You have a head wound. We need to get you to the hospital."
"Feel the back of my head Scott. I'm fine. Blind, but alive. The glass is gone."
And he felt the back of her head, sure that she was insane. But as he touched her scalp, there was no glass, no wound at all.
Startled, he pulled back. "Be as it may," he spoke slowly, and with a dry mouth "Be as it may, you still need to be checked out by a doctor."
'This isn't possible! That wound should have caused her serious, if not life-threatening injuries, but it's not even there. There is still the blood in her hair and on her clothes, but absolutely no wound. That's not possible.'
And something deep inside him stirred. His...spirit? Soul? Well whatever it was, it started to stir, as if someone had just woken him up from a thirty-year slumber.
Pulled out of his trance by the ambulance sounds, he helped load her into the vehicle, and rode in the back as it drove off.
In the hospital waiting room, he pulled out his headphones, and plugged them into his phone. Exhausted, all he wanted was his rap and heavy metal to calm him down. Pressing play, he leaned against the wall.
Suddenly, he jerked his phone out of pocket, checking to see if Spotify was working. Repeatedly, he pressed play, but no sound came out. He checked the earbuds, the jack, the app, but nothing. Then he tried classical. That didn't play. Neither did pop, nor rock, nor country.
Frustrated, he about threw his phone across the room. Finally, he just pushed "random" on the app, and sure enough, his favorite childhood band came on. Switchfoot.
Sighing at the bad memories it brought up, as well as that desire that he could not quench, he resolved to just listen to the song. But instead, he found himself just listening to the words and crying.
Tears poured down his cheeks as he thought of his friend, Almeda, who was in the hospital, but perfectly alright, aside from permanent blindness. He stared at the fish tank on the other side of the room.
Life had become so pointless. Was this all there was? The nine-to-five, and two weeks paid vacation, then retirement after thirty or forty years of work? What was the point of all that?
His musings were interrupted by a nurse. "Sir? You can see your friend now. Room B304 is right around the corner."
Nodding his head in thanks, Scott walked into his previous best-friend's hospital room. "I never thought that we'd end up here Scott."
Almeda's voice rang out with the simple joy and love to it that had drawn him in the first place. "Almeda, I'm sorry—".
She laughed—laughed! And he stood there, stupid-looking and dumbfounded. "What is there to apologize for? I'm alive! And healed! The Lord answers prayers in unexpected ways."
Confused, he look at his friend and she continued on. "I was dead, Scott. I was really dead. And then I saw Jesus, telling me everything was alright. I've never felt so complete, than when he was there."
"What can Jesus do? He doesn't save anyone." Scott spat out. "Even if he is real, then he obviously doesn't care."
"Oh Scott, if you could only see. He does care, that's why I'm back again. He didn't heal me for me, but for you."
Shocked to the core, Scott turned around and left. He sped out of the hospital and ran. He didn't stop running until he had reached the spot.
The "Spot" was his mother's special place. She used to wake up early, run here, and then read her devotional. He never quite understood why, until he came and stared up at the pre-dawn sky.
The stars were beautiful and the moon just about vanished from the cool, fall morning. The trees danced in the wind, and he had never felt more peace than when he was here.
" 'He healed me for you, Scott' ". He spoke the words aloud and re-assessed the situation. Almeda should be dead, the glass cut so deep. But she lay awake, totally blind, but alive. And apparently back to her usual self.
He couldn't stop the tears of joy. And he didn't know why he was crying them. What on earth happened to her? He saw the glass, felt the wound, smelled the blood, but it was gone. With no reminder of what happened, except for her blindness.
Which would be absolute torture for her, being a reader. She wrote fantastic stories, and read them all several times over before publishing them.
And she had grown widely popular, even though her books were all heavy in Christianity and/or theology. It would be absolute and total torture for her, blindness.
Suddenly, his phone beeped. "I know what you are thinking," he read aloud. "and no, it will not be absolute torture. I'm only partially blind. I will need glasses and Braille, but it will work. God has plans for me, plans to make me prosper, and not to harm me. This is most likely a lesson on humility and total trust. And no, my sister is typing this for me. I can't use a smart phone anymore. :( "
He laughed at the ending. It was so like her. To be serious and lecture, and then at the end make him smile. He looked up at the sunrise and one of his mother's favorite verses came to him. "GOD’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with GOD (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left."
"Lamentations 3:22-24." His phone beeped again, and this time, he laughed aloud, a booming, boisterous laugh.
"It's definitely you, Almeda. You still know me like the back of your hand."
"I never stopped, Scott."
And with that, she, or her sister, Amena, stopped texting him. Sighing, for what felt like the hundredth time in the last six hours, he shut off his phone. And he stared at the sun, as it rose in the east and two words came to his mind, and as he hit the button to turn on his phone, he said them. "He cares."
And a text popped up. "I know."
GOD’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with GOD (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left. (Lamentations 3:22-24 MSG)
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