Perspective

When Harold had his first brain surgery, his seventh floor hospital room allowed a panoramic view of a construction site. At that time it was a massive framework of girders many stories high. Cranes hovered around the perimeter, hoisting up supplies to the men in hard hats confidently walking the open structure. We’ve felt a connection to the building ever since and have watched the construction during subsequent visits and hospitalizations.  It opened just days after Harold’s May 2nd surgery and became the new home for neurosurgery. We were disappointed to miss using it.

It wasn’t our motivation for coming back but it’s nice to enjoy the new building now. The Pre-Op and the Neurology Critical Care Units are spacious and peaceful compared to the cramped curtained off overflow units the hospital was forced to use before. The surgical waiting area was truly welcoming and was the setting for much of my time yesterday.
 
With memories still fresh from two week before, I surveyed the waiting room and wondered about the people sitting there. What were there stories?  It was a fleeting thought as I sat in the nearest chair and began to read. A man and his teenage daughter joined the woman sitting two seats away. I moved to give them space. Their conversation broke the quiet isolation. When their topic turned to gardening I looked up and eventually joined in. We enjoyed a lively exchange of ideas that lasted several hours.  

Turns out this family was not waiting for someone already in surgery. They were waiting for surgery. The mother’s scheduled time had been delayed. Eventually she went into pre-op but the man and his daughter stayed and talked. By then Harold’s sister, Louise had joined us. The man told of his work as a defense attorney and then as a prosecutor. We learned about the significant health challenges his family had faced and the financial ramifications of being denied insurance coverage because of preexisting conditions. Then Louise asked this question:  “How have these experiences affected your feelings toward God?”

There was a pause, then he looked at us and said, “I’m glad you didn’t say the word religion. I have absolutely no use for organized religion. And as far as God? Well I’m not sure.”

This highly educated man then launched into a description of the vastness of our universe and the creations in it. He contrasted that with the smallness, the insignificance of man. “We are like dust,” he said. He wasn’t sure it was necessary to have God. “Pure science could be enough.”  He said this with no animosity but with the voice of a man questioning himself.

I asked if I could share my perspective. He welcomed it. I expressed an appreciation for his thoughts on the vastness of the universe and the smallness of man in comparison. Then I told him a portion of my own cancer experience and the feeling I’d had of being carried, even cradled through it. I shared that I have that same feeling now during Harold’s battle. I told him that as small and insignificant as I am, the God who created this universe is aware of me. He answers my prayers.

Just then this man and his daughter were called into pre-op to see his wife. They jumped up . . .  then he turned back. “I don’t want to leave, he said, “this is just getting interesting.”

But that was it, another small moment connecting.

I’m grateful for the chance to hear this man’s story and perspective and to share mine with him. I’m grateful for my knowledge of God, my loving Heavenly Father, and his son, Jesus Christ.  Because of that knowledge my life has purpose. I am not insignificant. I am a part of a plan as real and tangible as the blueprint used to create this new building.  It is God’s Plan of Happiness