The scent of antiseptic and plastic hit me as soon as my visitor badge swiped through the barcode reader and the doors to the Magee ICU swung open. I walked down the familiar corridor, scanning either side for room numbers to help me gauge how close I was to finding my friend. I looked up and said hello to the nurses who I knew by name from the almost 2 months that my late husband occupied this wing just over 7 months ago.
Nurse Lukas saw me first as he stood at the head of a new patient’s bed with an ICU team gliding down the hall. His jaw dropped. He was a new ICU nurse when assigned to my late husband, and now he was assigned to my friend’s ICU room. I didn’t remember the number of the room before I saw it.
Room 4833 was the room where I learned my husband was dying, where I lay on the couch near the window staring at the night sky trying to talk him through the ICU delirium: No, the hallway is not on fire; the building is not swaying in ovoid circles; do NOT pull out those IVs! I sporadically slept on that couch, learned how to change the pads underneath him and read the numbers on the monitor, religiously learning every corresponding beeping sound for each alarm.
Now I was back. I was a little stunned to walk into the room to see my friend who had been intubated and in a medically induced coma sitting up chatting with her mom. It took me a couple of minutes to register who the stranger in the room was--the person who was to replace my husband as pastor of our little church and slated to start next Sunday, Pastor Al.
That morning, I had cleaned out my late husband’s office so that Pastor Al could use it the next week, which required emptying my mini-van of the remainder of my late husband’s clothing before filling it up with the personal items from his former office. In one overwhelming day, I finished donating my late husband’s clothes, packed up his office, revisited the place I spent the most time preparing for his death, and met his job replacement. Why?
My friend, Bethany, had been found unresponsive on her bathroom floor on Saturday morning and was life-flighted to Allegheny General Hospital. I was determined that I would go see her as soon as it was feasible, but I hate driving in Pittsburgh and have never been to AGH. “If it were Magee, I would at least know how to get there,” I included as a kind of sarcastic aside in my prayer on Saturday evening. Sunday morning, I got a text with an update on her condition. Bethany was moved to Magee ICU for insurance purposes. I knew where to go.
Courage to face some pretty awful stuff can come when a person believes that God has a plan.
This time of year, we Christians celebrate God’s greatest plan of all-- the plan for redemption of God’s people. We remember and honor the people who had a part in that plan’s unfolding. Nativity sets and church Christmas plays retell their roles. We talk about the extraordinary circumstances, possible scandals or cost of following God’s instructions, and we also revisit the faith they showed.
For Joseph, God’s plan meant the entire upheaval of his life and more immediate, certain reputation-affecting rumors. For Mary, add the probable estrangement from family and a risk of death by stoning to the immediate possibilities. Yet, Joseph obeyed. Even better, Mary rejoiced when the angel told her of God’s plan. They knew for certain that God saw them and cared about his people.
God’s plan was not easy for them, but it was good.
As the Waynesburg University community gets ready to celebrate Christmas and walk into the new year, we may face some challenging days, familiar places and new faces, and it is my prayer that we will walk with the knowledge that makes all believers brave: God sees you. God looks upon you with favor. God has a plan.
Merry Christmas from the Waynesburg University Writing Center!
