Manning Up

The Mystery Man

There were some long nights, really long nights, at the hospital. That was due in part to the drugs and in part to the medical team members checking on me around the clock. However, two to four o’clock in the morning was typically a time of incredible silence. The only thing regularly audible was the sound of the hospital. I don’t know if it was a generator or what, but whatever it was, there was a distinct rhythm to it. Sometimes it was soothing. Other times, it kept me from getting any shut-eye. It was during one of those early morning hours that the sound kept me from reading or praying. I got this insane idea to get up and go to my window. I hadn't done this without help since I had been admitted to Medical City. But I wanted to get a closer look at the night. Something was telling me that I needed to.

This was going to take considerable methodical effort and concentration. I knew what I had to do because it had been explained to me before. I first had to locate the device that controls the bed and pressed a button that raised my head. I then pulled and pushed myself to the side, careful not to get tangled up in my IV lines, sat up for a minute with my legs dangling over the edge to make sure that I wasn't going to pass out, slid my feet into my flip-flops, asked God to support me, and stood up. I felt like a newborn fawn, wobbly and unsure.

Carefully, I unplugged the vitals box, draped the cord over the shepherd’s hook that extended up from the IV stand, took my “meals on wheels” and shuffled ever so slowly over to the window. When you are healthy, it is easy to take walking on your own for granted. I felt proud for the first time in a long time because I had actually accomplished something totally on my own. As I stood there, I absorbed the colors of the buildings nearby—the red letters on the side of one, the white highlights of a second, and a royal blue light strip wrapped around the top of a third. I whispered, “How American.”

I was amazed at how the night felt looking out from the top of Twelve South. Traffic on LBJ Freeway in the distance was sparse, but indicated life. What are people doing at two o’clock in the morning in the middle of the week? It then hit me that I didn't even know if it was the middle of the week. Come to think of it, I don’t recall ever keeping track of what day of the week it was.

As I was taking in the surroundings, I happened to look at the shorter buildings adjacent to mine that make up Medical City. About four floors beneath me, in the closest building, I noticed a room with a light on and the blinds open. There was a patient reading in bed. I could tell the patient was male, but I couldn't see his face. My only thought was, He can’t sleep either. I don’t know why I couldn't sleep more than thirty minutes at a time. But I learned to make use of it by reading, praying, listening to the hospital, or watching a little TV.

A couple of nights later, around two o’clock again, the colorful lights beckoned me to my window. I psyched up to get myself out of bed. Again, I meticulously went through the precarious routine of getting out of bed and over to the window. The experience was equally as gratifying as the time before. Just as I was about to return to my bed, I happened to glance down and noticed the same male patient was awake and reading. I felt a smile form on my face and thought that at least I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

I didn't go to the window every night. I wish I could have, but many times I was too gassed to get up. However, those nights I was able to make it, the mystery man was always awake. For some reason, that seemed to empower me. I took comfort in the fact that I wasn't alone in my infirmed plight. God was using the mystery man to minister to me. It wasn't important for me to know who this man was. What was important was that God was telling me, “You’re not alone,” and He was with me.

In addition, I discovered that every dark night was the front door through which a new experience and a new day were waiting to emerge. Frankly, there is a treasure in every moment. Sometimes it jumps out at you. Other times it comes quietly, peacefully. But they are all around us. How odd that the dark became a source of light, a place of security, and a time of spiritual growth.

I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden wealth of secret places.
—Isaiah 45:3

Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, but the night shines as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike to You.
—Psalm 139:12