When my first grandchild, Claire, was born, my heart was full of so many strong emotions that it took a few weeks to parse out and understand them all. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to share her with others. Then when I saw her other grandmother holding her and gushing all those same emotions over her, I knew that was the kind of love I wished for Claire; the kind all of us can never have enough of.
Fast forward eighteen years. Yesterday, I was riding in a hospital elevator, with what I assumed to be a husband and wife, on my way back to my car. I asked if they’d been there before and they said yes, a friend was still recovering after three weeks.
“And you?”
“Open-heart surgery on Tuesday.” I hadn’t said the words out loud before, and hearing myself say them, I burst out crying just as the door opened to their floor.
“What’s your person’s name?” the man asked, handing me something.
“Jim.”
“We’ll pray for Jim,” he said as the doors closed.
I opened my hand and saw he’d given me a smiling Jesus with the message “Jesus (heart symbol) You” across his robe.
Jesus has had some bad press lately, mostly for what he never said. A lot of people read the Bible the way they want to and disregard what doesn’t support their agenda, especially the “Love your neighbor” part. There’s no way of knowing if the man in the elevator supports Christian Nationalism, or if Jim is just another notch on his prayer chain to heaven, but cynical me is choosing to believe in sincerity.
Just as I wish all the love in the world for my grandkids, despite the source, I wish all the support for Jim during this difficult time, despite the source. I know valve replacement surgery is done every day, everywhere, but that doesn’t take away the fear of this one. Collectively, whatever good energy, thoughts, or prayers that get sent out into the universe for him will create a space of love and encouragement that will promote healing.
I’m going to tuck that little Jesus in my purse to remind me to accept love when it’s given and to remember that there’s still a lot of goodness in this world.
Lynn Haraldson, Author and Writing Mentor 