Five-minute Window

The woman in the hospital bed next to my wife was loud, cranky and demanding. Years of drug use had reduced her to a shadow of her original self. Lying flat in her hospital bed as she was, I couldn’t help feeling pity and whisper a prayer.

“I was a waitress at the Space Needle Restaurant in Seattle for twenty years,” she told every nurse and orderly who assisted her. To those who passed her hospital room door she called out, “I need help! What’s the matter with me? Why am I here?” Desperately she cried, “I want my lawyer! Nurse, Nurse, I need to wash my hair!”

Who was this woman named Kathleen? “I want to talk to a priest. Is there a priest in this hospital? And don’t send me one of those phony Protestants!” she shouted.

No friends, no calls, no flowers, no family. My wife had four bouquets, 11 get-well cards, and a constant flow of visitors sharing love.

In sympathy, I held Kathleen’s hand one day and prayed for her healing, then silently prayed for her deeper needs. From then on she called me “Pastor.” Spiritual help was offered in a narrow five-minute window of time. She settled down.