Day #2 at the Mayo Clinic with my friend found us back at the hospital again at 6:00 a.m.  I went down to the main floor in search of a Diet Coke and sat down to drink it in the lobby.  Next to me (in a wheelchair) sat a woman who looked like she was sleeping, so I thought it might be a safe place for me to sit and not have to talk to anyone.  She was on oxygen.  Her head slumped down.  Her robe barely pulled around her to cover her.  And then she said something . . . mumbled something.

I didn’t say anything in return.  I didn’t even look at her.  And then she said something again.

Finally, I said with a tone of exasperation, “Pardon me?” 

She said, “I have two weeks to live.”  I thought again, “Get me out of here,”  but I said, “I’m so sorry.”

She said, “Don’t be.  I’m ready to go.”  I quickly answered, “Well, I’m glad.”  And then I was quiet again.  I didn’t know what to say and I really didn’t want to be there.  I stood up to leave.

She said, “Would you like some advice?”

I sat down and my heart softened.  I answered, “Sure . . .”  I probably could use some advice.

She said simply, “Just love Jesus.”  I started to cry and we both sat there until hospital personnel came to take her someplace.

This is what I know — that God showed up at the Mayo Clinic in a disshelved woman with oxygen in a wheelchair — and I almost missed Him.

“And He shall be called Immanual — which in Hebrew is ‘God with us.'”  Matthew 1:23

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