Tracing His Hand

1 Orthodontist In high school, I worked as a cashier at a local grocery store and often many of the same customers would come through my line. It was fun to see people who came back to see me. It seemed to make the day better when I saw them. Fortunately, I didn’t seem to get people who were nasty or troublemakers. And as most people know, if the day is busy, it does seem to go by faster. It was on one of the slower days that a particular customer came through my checkout aisle. I looked forward to his visit. He was an older man, unshaven, and he wore a flannel shirt and baggy pants. He smiled and so did I. We shared pleasantries and chatted the entire time I checked out his order. After he paid for his groceries, I began to put the groceries into bags. One of my coworkers pulled me aside and asked, “How can you talk to someone like that?” I smiled and walked back to my duties, bagging the groceries. When finished, we said our goodbyes. Once again, my coworker asked, “Why do you talk to people like that?” Smiling, I told her, “That was my orthodontist!” That really shocked her. “Orthodontist? That’s a specialist who makes tons of money. Why does he dress like that? Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure,” I said. Dr. Ted was my orthodontist. I had braces on my teeth for one and a half years. I was in his office once a week—forever, it seemed. On his day off, Dr. Ted (as he wanted to be called) went grocery shopping at our local store. Naturally, he came through my checkout lane because he knew me and I knew who he was. I recognized him even though he wasn’t wearing his professional dental-specialist clothing. I was expecting him. I recognized him. There was another man who arrived on this earth a few thousand years ago. No one recognized Him. He wasn’t wearing what the people expected. They expected a crown as He was to be royalty. He wore regular garments just like everyone else wore. Yes, they were expecting Him, but they didn’t recognize Him.   2 Hospital Cafeteria Christmas—Circumstances I worked at a children’s hospital for around seven years before I was married. It was an acute referral center, which meant that our hospital received the really serious cases, such as patients who had rare heart conditions that required surgery, neurosurgery patients, and patients with other rare conditions and diseases. For example, one of the resident doctors pointed out to me that patients in the intensive care unit had something going on that occurred only in one in five thousand, one in ten thousand, or one in fifty thousand individuals. You get the idea. There was a helicopter pad behind the hospital, and critically ill patients were often flown in for emergency surgery or treatments. It was a difficult place to work. Children were hurt, sick, or dying. In the hospital world, it is a 24/7, 365 life. Physicians, nurses, and other employees were constantly on call, and my boss would always say that we were doing this for the children. It was understood that we would always stay a half hour later than our quitting time. We would trade off working on holidays, so if you had the Thanksgiving Day holiday off, then you had to work on Christmas Day. If you had Christmas Day off one year, then you would be working it the next year, unless, of course, you traded with another coworker. The cafeteria crew tried to make the holiday as special as they could by serving a fancy dinner—turkey with stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes with gravy, and pie for dessert for the patients’ families and for the staff who had to work on the holidays. Considering the circumstances that some parents had to endure, this was a little blessing for them. My sacrifice (working on Christmas Day) was nothing compared to that of the parents whose children had months, weeks, or only a few days left to live. As I sat by myself, eating my special Christmas dinner meal on the cafeteria tray, I looked around the room and saw many patients’ families, taking a well-needed break to eat dinner. There was no joyous celebration of the birth of Christ, no family gathered around a Christmas tree opening presents, no fancy decorations, or special holiday meal. No family traditions or being able to attend special Christmas church services as a family. Just sadness. But they wanted to be close to their children. I cannot imagine what they were going through. How often do we think of “having to work” as an opportunity to bless others rather than drudgery? We could not be with our families on some of these holidays because we were working, but these families were going to lose someone they loved. I had my family to go home to, but they were losing theirs. Their daily lives had been disrupted for a difficult, tragic journey. I could go home, sleep, and come back to work the next day refreshed. They, on the other hand, lived with stress on a daily basis. Although not a Christian environment, like a church or Christian organization, anyone could see that serving these patients and their families was truly lived out on a daily basis. May we appreciate our families more and serve them joyously because we can.