“All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” – Juliana of Norwich
Every time we take Sadie to the hospital for something outpatient and routine and non-invasive, I feel humbled by and maybe a little ashamed of the gratitude I feel. We’re not staying, I think, as I watch bald children in bathrobes being pushed in wheelchairs or parents with worried faces cradling little ones in their arms. I can’t imagine what they might be going through, even though I’ve been there under duress.
The other morning we made one of those ordinary visits. But while we sat in the big waiting room waiting to register, something extraordinary happened. It didn’t start out that way: a hospital employee came up and asked me if I thought it was too hot. Obviously, she was warm and wanted to gather a consensus so the air could be turned up. Was I hot? “Well, let’s just say I’m not cold,” I said, winking at her. She chuckled. Sitting behind me, the lady holding an infant had a different answer: “All is well.” She kept repeating it, chanting it almost.
“All is not well,” the hospital lady said, her tone suddenly shifting. “What if I told you my mother is in the late stages of Alzheimer’s?” My head was spinning. How did these two get here from a conversation about the temperature in the waiting area?
And so it continued—no matter what the first lady complained of, the young mother behind us insisted, “All is well.” Then she told her story, not a pretty one. (After all, we were in a children’s hospital.) And she explained very simply why all is well and who makes it that way—and how to lean on him to do so. Wow. I tried to pray for her and listen at the same time.
It struck me how easily this saint found an opportunity to share her faith. But later that day, as I thought about it, something impressed me even more. She planted a seed and left it at that. There was a fleeting, beautiful moment, and when it was all said and done, the woman with the ailing mother expressed heartfelt thanks, saying, “Well, I’m not even hot anymore.” She had received the truth with eagerness, almost hunger. As I sat there, I waited for the young mother to drive it home. Ask her where she lives, I thought. Get her number, recommend a church or a book or at least tell her to get herself to a Bible—and fast! But she didn’t try to control the situation. She just planted a seed.
How freeing. Maybe I would be quicker and bolder and more generous with the good news if I didn’t feel such a sense of (false) responsibility for the outcome. That’s not our area. I think the lady with the sick baby in the waiting room knew that, embraced it, had the peace that passes all understanding about it. There was no nervousness, no angst, certainly no artifice. And no compulsion to take the reins with a grip so tight one’s knuckles turn white.
She didn’t know it, but she was ministering to two people in the stuffy waiting area that day.
Thank you for planting a new thought, a new perspective. I get so anxious about sharing Jesus with others, forgetting to rest in Him, failing to trust Him to direct and control and work as He wishes.
I love that. A moment not wasted! If we just “show up” and speak with the heart of Christ, big things will happen!
Hi Laura! What a beautiful blog, my fellow Hutchmoot-attendee and Georgian. I need to meet this designer of yours. My blog needs some major help.
I feel the same as you when I have to go to the Children’s hospital — humbly grateful and yet also ashamed at my gladness. But I always think “here by the grace of God” — that whether we have children sick or well He is holding us all in His hands, even those in the midst of their suffering.
I think, and maybe this is perhaps why the other woman bristled — is that when the woman shared that “all is well” it is much different than what you quoted above: “all SHALL be well.” (I think Andrew Peterson has talked about this at a concert when he introduces his song “All Shall Be Well.) Though I love that she shared where her hope and peace comes from, I think making the distinction is important. Because all is NOT well, the wages of sin are evident all around us, and that is why Christ has come. I think it would have been even more life-giving for that mother to tell her story, but acknowledge that this world is broken and is in need of fixing. Which is why we have a Savior. When Christ comes, all will be made well then. And actually, all IS BEING MADE WELL, it has already begun at His resurrection. Still, it is not complete. Not yet.
These are late-night thoughts, granted, so forgive me any misunderstanding. I do appreciate that she was planting a seed — and telling a story, no less! The words of Walt Wangerin keep ringing in my ears about telling the truth with our stories, acknowledging that we live in a fallen world and things like cancer and Alzheimer’s are real and ever-present, but there is One Great Healer who will remake this world into something grand and new. I long for that day.
Good to hear from you Allison. Your point is appreciated. I actually thought about the distinction before I posted this. I think it’s important that we as Christians don’t try to cover this life of ups and downs with plastered smiles on our faces. All may not be well, but we have hope that it will be. When things seem bad, it’s not the end of the story, our story. If I were writing a piece of fiction, the woman in the waiting room would’ve used “shall be” instead of “is.” (The former newspaper reporter in me can’t stand to misquote.)
Thank you for the reminder of planting seeds — how beautifully written. Thanks sweet friend!