A Tale of Two Visitors

When the heavy steel door clanged shut, it was a comforting sound. Somehow I felt that nothing could touch me now. My entire world had come crashing down; yet, in the quiet of the psychiatric ward, quite unexpectedly, I felt safe. Hopelessness stalked outside the door, but inside it could not reach me. Even so, I was certain that God had abandoned me.

*   *   *   *   *

Sometime during my first morning in the psychiatric ward, my pastor visited me. I had never felt comfortable with him, but I supposed that I had written the name of my church on the hospital admitting form. I was surprised and touched that he had come so quickly. Surely he would have some words of comfort for me. When he sat down next to me, everything burst from me in a rush.

"Pastor, I don't know if I believe in God!" I cried out to him. He sat like a rod of iron, his eyes averted, his face stiff and unyielding.

"It's sin in your life!" he said. "Perhaps if you confessed your sin, then you'd receive an answer as to why you are in this awful place." He looked at me with disgust. I felt as though I'd been slapped. I sat there looking at him and wondering why he had bothered to come at all.

"You must be very busy," I said, miserably. "Perhaps you'd better go now, so you don't get behind in your duties." My eyes followed him as he stood up. I thought his face looked awfully hard for a man so young. He hesitated, looking more lost than I felt.

"Well … if you need anything …"

"Sure," I said, with bitter sarcasm, "Just in case I want someone to confess to."

Without meeting my eyes, he handed me his card. I took it and watched him go. Tears spilled from my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I felt forgotten and shunned. I knew I'd never return to his church again! Later, I walked slowly to the nurses' station and handed the nurse his card. I told her to place his name on the list of persons that I never wanted to see. I was certain, now, that God had left me totally alone.

*   *   *   *   *

The next morning, I was interrupted in my ceramics class. Someone to see me? At 10:30 in the morning? Who could it be? There were very few people who even knew I was in the hospital, so this visitor was a complete mystery.

I walked out into the lounge, anxiously looking around. Sitting by himself, across the room at a table, was a tiny elderly man. As soon as he saw me, his face beamed, and he smiled. Hesitantly, I smiled back. He beckoned, and I looked around, making sure there was no one else whom he might be expecting. Why would he come to see me?

I walked over, knowing this must be a mistake. He must be here to see some other patient, or perhaps he, too, was a patient. He stood up, and held out his hand. It was a small, frail hand, but his handshake was surprisingly firm. He squeezed my hand with both of his. It was a warm feeling. Reluctantly, I slipped my hands away as he began to speak.

"Someone told me that you needed me, my dear," he said softly.

"Who told you?" I asked, shivering.

"That's not important, now," he said with a smile, "but you are important." He again reached out and took my hands in both of his. He radiated such warmth, that his blue-veined hands were almost hot to the touch. "How can I help you?" he asked, his voice filled with compassion.

All of a sudden, my eyes welled up with tears, and I just burst forth with my story. He listened, and the expression on his face mirrored my every emotion. When I cried, his eyes filled. When I laughed, he chuckled. When my face contorted with grief and anguish, his face nearly broke with sorrow.

"Oh, Pastor!" I cried. "I don't know if God loves me! I don't know if He knows I'm alive! I don't know if I even believe in Him!" The pain poured out of me like a flood. I waited for that look of disgust, but all I saw was love. This man loved me, and he didn't even know me! At my outburst, he smiled into my eyes.

"My dear," he said, "if you can't believe in God right now, then maybe it will help you to know that I do." Warmth flooded through me. There was my answer. Something to cling to in the raging storm. At that moment I was certain that I stood on holy ground. Smiling, he pressed my hands. Then he turned and walked toward the big, steel door. In the doorway, he turned again, still smiling.

"God be with you," he said, softly, and then he left, the door clanging shut behind him. Strange as it seems, I felt as though he had left a part of himself behind. I now knew that I could depend on his words. He believed in God, so God must be real. I could wait for my faith to return again.

It was a long road back to healing, but I made it out of the hospital, and back into a restored life. Many years later, I'm still amazed to discover what a precious gift that encounter was, when love held my hand. I understand now that I can hold a hand and give comfort to a stranger. I can touch a heart with just a few words. I can love without condition. I can laugh and cry and never be ashamed. I understand now that God is as close as my next heartbeat, and that when I least expect Him, He will always show up.

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