One and Only

I moved up against the wall so she could get past. “Granny, do you want to sit there?” the lady behind her questioned pointing towards the seat I just left. Granny didn’t answer. She just rolled on by, headed straight for my chair.

“Mrs. Hatcher?” the receptionist called again. “Here. I’m here.” I called from my spot against the wall. The older woman slid her walker past and her companion followed.

I picked up my insurance card from the receptionist and found another seat while I waited for the nurse to call me back.

I was sure I was the one and only who sat waiting that long for my appointment.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the two women sit close and talk. “You look pretty. I’m glad to be here,” the companion told what I assumed was her mother. The elder leaned close. Her mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear the words. Her daughter replied with a smile. “I missed you, too. But I’ll be here the next three days. We’ll have fun. Won’t we?” And she patted her knee three times. Pat. Pat. Pat.

The younger of the two must have been in her sixties. She moved to take off her coat, and I noticed her clothes. She was wearing colorful scrubs. This woman wasn’t her daughter at all. It was her nurse. I smiled then thinking about the excellent care this woman must have been receiving.

The next fifteen minutes in my doctor’s office waiting room, I was completely intrigued as I watched the interactions between these two women. The nurse ran her hands over her patient’s hair smoothing it into just the right place. She patted her leg as they waited, and smoothed her hands over the elder’s wrinkled fingers, twisted from arthritis. She continued to talk as she dug through her purse for a nail file and smiled at the people around her as she smoothed the rough edges on the hands of one whose eyes had seen the Great Depression.

“She’s ninety-four. And sharp as a tack,” the nurse shared with the lady across from her. Then she turned to grin at me, nodding her head as if to say I’m telling the truth.

“Mrs. Hatcher?” The call drew me out of the waiting room and on with my day. As I drove home later, I couldn’t get the ladies out of my mind.

It was a visual representation of the way Christ cares for me. He draws close when I speak, not missing a word. He knows the hairs on my head and smooths my rough edges. My Lord is happy to be with me. He pours Himself over me attending my every need. He acts as if I’m the single most important one around. He whispers that I am His one and only.

But I know He whispers it to you, too.

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows. Luke 12:7 NIV

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