She was scared, so was I.
She thought she was bad and repeated I’m sorry over and over. I was sitting in the chair at the end of her bed, she is slightely older than my mother but looked strong enough to hurt me if she wanted too. But I knew she wouldn’t. What now I think. I get up slowly and kneel beside her holding my Joyce Meyer book. Do you know who Joyce Meyer is I asked softly. Her eyes lit up and with a big smile I ask if she would like for me to read to her. She says yes, but doesn’t allow me the opportunity. She’s scared she is in jail doesn’t know what a hospital is. Or why she’s here. Repeatedly asking if she’s going to receive shock therapy, Thorzene or be put in solitary. I try my best to ease her weary heart as we talk about Jesus, Art her children and grandchildren. Where’s her children I wonder, where’s her family? how did she end up here? I try to have the nurse help ease her mind but just like the others I’ve encountered here desensitized and she mutters for us to be quiet. I don’t judge I know oh to well how easy it is to have a job you really have no interest in. I’m here because I want to be, God is so gracious and he blesses me I hope to bless others I encounter in his name. Let them see him in me. Grace 2 Fight, a place where we don’t grow weary of helping others because it’s our calling to serve in his name. I don’t have to wonder if I’m doing the right thing, I don’t have to worry or plan he’s doing all that for me.