Be Still and Know

Previous	Index	Next
Be Still and Know She must have been seven or eight years old, shiny black hair hanging to her shoulders and big brown eyes that were full of pain. She kept her head down and moaned steadily through the curtain of her hair as her mother sat next to her at the table in the cafeteria in Children’s Hospital. In a place where unusual sights and sounds from children are the norm, the little girl and her mom stood out. As I passed her with my two youngest girls, I glanced at the mother’s impassive face. There was no emotion; it appeared to set in stone, as though there wasn’t a little girl sitting inches from her face keeping up a steady stream of sound. It was the face of someone who has lived with this particular noise for years. I glanced at the other patrons in the eating area and noticed them surreptitiously look at the little girl for a moment or two, then look away. No one was smiling. My little girls ate their treats in silence, and never once asked why that child was making so much noise; Allison and Ashley, at six and four years old respectively, are old hands at the hospital environment. The mom finished her meal and led the wailing child out of the cafeteria. The dining room seemed suddenly quiet without the girl’s cries, until my four year old stood up on her chair and loudly proclaimed, “MOM I GOTTA GO POOPY!” I wasn’t even fazed. We gathered up the detritus of our snack and made our way to the bathroom. As we got closer to the restroom, I could hear the telltale moaning of the little girl from the cafeteria. She was in the bathroom with her mother. Ashley picked a stall, went in and closed the door behind her, yelling her usual ‘I need privacy’. I leaned against the cold tile wall to wait and Allison went around the corner of the bathroom and stuck her hands over her ears. The noise was deafening. The mom was washing her little girl’s hands and the little girl obviously objected to the process. Whereas in the cafeteria she had simply moaned, in the bathroom she was virtually screaming. The sound bounced off the tile walls and I envied Allison’s hands over her ears. As she finished up, the mom reached for the paper towels next to me and I tried to catch her eye and smile at her. Not being a doctor by training, but having learned much in my life, I knew the girl was probably severely autistic. Just as we were exchanging names, the door to the restroom opened and a small dark haired woman entered. She thought I was waiting in line for a stall, but I assured her that I was simply waiting for my little girl to finish up. We looked at each other and at the same time said, “Don’t I know you?” We did know each other, but it took us some time to unlock that knowledge from each of our over-stressed brains. The loud wailing of the little girl made it difficult to talk as well. When we finally remembered where we knew each other from, we smiled satisfied smiles and then shared the reasons why we were at Children’s Hospital that day. I was there with Ashley to see her Neurologist and for some physical and occupational therapy appointments; she was there because her two-year-old grandson was having open-heart surgery. As the little girl continued to voice her displeasure over her hand washing experience, I expressed my sympathy about her grandson’s operation and my hope that everything would turn out well. She surprised me with a serene smile. The mother of the sobbing child led her daughter past us and out the door; we’d both tried to give the Mom a smile of encouragement, but she hadn’t glanced at either of us. My friend again gave me that confident smile and said, “I’ve prayed and prayed about this little boy. I love him so much.” I told her that I was sure she did, that grandchildren are such a precious gift. “They are” she replied, “And in my prayers I was told that everything would be fine. Now I don’t know if that means he’s going to survive the operation and be able to go home with us—or if it means that he’s going to go back home to heaven.” Her eyes were glistening a bit, but that smile was still on her face as she continued. “Either way, I know things will be all right and I’m comforted by that knowledge.” We should all have such faith that ‘things will be fine’. Too often I know that I go through life so worried and fretful over what is happening in the world, or what is happening in our own family and neglect to ‘be still and know’ that He is God and everything will be fine.
Previous	Index	Next

Email Me At