I had my day all scheduled out, but an overly-long funeral put me significantly behind.
And then, when I arrived at the ICU to visit my ONE parishioner in the hospital, the nurse told me that I had to wait at least 30 minutes for shift change. I had a friend in town and was supposed to meet up with them, so I was NOT happy.
To make matters worse, this particular patient was someone that I had struggled to love.
My very first week at the church, she had barged into my office with angry opinions and we had been locked in power struggles ever since. She got the better of my temper on a few occasions and, once or twice, I had called her my nemesis. So, of course, I begrudged the inconvenience of that extra time (even blamed her for it, slightly: "of course she would mess up this day for me"--an irrational reaction, but my thought nonetheless).
So I left to get coffee with my friend and stubbornly returned to the hospital ('stubborn' is the right word because my reaction was more like "she is NOT going to win this one. I WILL visit and I'll kill her with kindness because I'm the better person.") ...
This woman who had been in (my perception) so formidable and bitter and antagonistic... was curled up in a hospital bed and weakly crying out for ice.
And I saw her.
I'm not sure if she knew who I was, but as I sat there singing hymns, I found myself deeply drawn to compassion and love for this child of God.
It was grace for me to sing.
It was grace for me to hold that tiny sponge swab and gently fish one ice chip at a time out of the Styrofoam cup and place it on to her lips. It felt almost sacramental to be sharing such a small and intimate thing with her.
As I sang, I was overcome by the raw knowledge of God's overwhelming love towards this woman. Despite my previous frustration and anger, I saw Christ in her and with her.
It was a moment of tender mercy.
And my heart was strangely warmed.
(enough to melt some of the ice)
