Dying of Aids. Any thought I could handle this one flew out the car window on the way to the hospital. I seriously wondered what God was thinking when He wanted me to help. He is God. I am not.

I got a call at the office from a family who came to our area for medical care. Would I go to the hospital? Yes.

She was sweet sixteen and dying of Aids. How? An inhumane something who called himself “father” abused her with full knowledge he had the disease. He was locked up in jail. She lay sick to the point of death, probably more from a broken heart than physical pain.

I gripped the steering wheel as though I were on a roller coaster about to spiral. For some odd reason, I remember the blinding sunshine and the wind wrecking my hair. I drove. I pleaded. Please God. Please help me not say anything stupid.

Rapid fire thoughts pelted me. Were they terrified? Exhausted? Grieved? Furious? Sad? Distrustful? Agitated? Defeated? I decided they were all of the above and it had rolled together into a great big ball called, Numb. I came to this conclusion from the conversations I had with them in my head long before we met.

Don’t judge me. I prayed. A lot! I knew God was with them. He cared about their pain. He saw their tears and heard their cries. My faith in Him was no problem. It was the idea that He likes working through imperfect people. I fought to trust that God was big enough – in me and through me – to help me – help them.

My heart pounded as I stood near the elevator that would lead me to Amber’s room. Then something happened. A whisper. Deep inside I heard a whisper. “When I was sick, you visited me.” The word visited stood out among the other whispered words. I got it! I did not have to be superhuman or amazing or brilliant or spectacular. I could be me and God would be God.

I introduced myself as a member of our church who came to visit. Amber’s mother lifted her head that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. She let out a long breath. Something in her trusted me. She would take a break at the cafeteria while I was with her daughter.

Had I not known Amber was sixteen years old, I would have guessed twelve. She had dark sunken eyes and bones that showed through her skin, yet her smile glowed with kindness.

Amber motioned for me to come close. Soon we were laughing so hard we both began to cry, happy tears. It was over the silliest things. For almost two hours we escaped the confines of the hospital with all its tubes and monitors and needles and beeping sounds and obnoxious bright lights. The room seemed to vanish and we were like two friends sitting on swings at a park. Talking. Dreaming. Being together.

It was time for me to leave. I could hardly breathe from the holy silence. Amber placed her right hand on my left forearm and literally whispered, “Thank you for visiting me. I get so lonely sometimes.”

That was the last time I saw Amber in person, but I see her always in my heart.

I was worried that my humanity would not be enough, when actually, it was my humanity she needed. It was my humanity that Jesus needed. He appeared in that room in a simple whispered word. “When I was sick, you visited me.”

Mary ♡

Note: This is a true story but the name and a few details were changed to protect the identity.