Strangers in the Night

by Rollie J.

My phone was ringing in the kitchen. I glanced at my alarm clock … 1:06 a.m. Not good. Might be one of the kids. Better check it out. It’s never good to get a call at this time of the night. I was mostly awake anyway. Overly wired from a full day of preaching and with a full moon blaring through the bedroom window like a streetlamp focused on my face, I hadn’t got much sleep anyway.

I stumbled out of bed and dashed to the kitchen. The number flashing on my phone was our work line, automatically routed to mine, as it was my turn to be on call for emergencies. I better answer it. These calls are usually never fun to get, especially in the wee hours of the morning.

It was a chaplain at one of our local hospitals. He talked slow and methodical, with long pauses between his statements like the call was delayed from being thousands of miles away. I proved impatient in the long, drawn-out responses. He was looking for a Lutheran pastor, who could come and pray or do last rights for an elderly woman who was in her final moments of life. The granddaughter and son were there in the room and asking for this help. I queried more attempting to find out who the patient was, were they members of First Lutheran, how did the chaplain choose this number, etc.

In my brain fog of sleepless night, and through the painfully slow-talking chaplain, I eventually discerned the dying woman was named Vivian, and no, they had no association with First Lutheran. This was all random. I mumbled and stuttered and finally said “Yes, I’ll be there in 30 minutes as I’m on the other end of town.” What the heck, I’m wide awake now, might as well see how this plays out.

Arriving at the hospital, it felt eerie and different from the usual hustle bustle of this normally busy hospital. A pair of security guards met me as I walked up to the closed glass doors. They opened the doors, and I relayed my information and they waved me through to the elevators. The darkened and quiet lobby added to the surreal feeling of the night.

Gaining the 5th floor, I proceeded following the numbered signs on above the doorways. A pair of lock doors halted my progress, as I repeatedly kept pushing the button with no effect. Finally, an attentive young nurse met me and parted the doors. “You’re here for Vivian I assume? Her family is waiting down at the end of the hallway.” I thanked her and proceeded down the long corridor of rooms. The lights had been dimmed and a few nurses quietly went about their humble and most important work of the night shift. I thought to myself, that this incredible mostly hidden work goes on night after night by these nurses with no one to applaud or appreciate what they do and do so well.

Seeing a pair of people gathered at the darkened end of the hall, I quietly introduced myself. Kate, the 20 some-thing granddaughter smiled through reddened, tear-soaked eyes as she thanked me for coming. Roger, the stoic son, nodded in gratitude as well. We spent a good 15 minutes in quiet conversation getting acquainted and finding out more about each of their lives and that of Vivian’s situation. It became immediately clear that Kate loved and adored her grandmother who had been so important to her in life.

After a time, I asked if it would be good to go and pray for Vivian. Both nodded in agreement as we stood and proceeded back down the hallway. I wasn’t prepared for what was about to take place.

I had wrongfully anticipated an unconscious woman to pray over. Instead, I found Vivian, 87 years old, wide awake, alert and extremely clear in her thoughts. I introduced myself and took a seat bedside, her with a clear plastic oxygen mask, and me with my Covid mask and we began to get acquainted as I peppered her with questions of her life and history. When I asked her, what had been her greatest joy in life, she instantly shot back that it was her husband Bernard, and a slight smile grew across her aged face. She told me the story of their meeting and that it had been a love story ever since. “Oh it wasn’t always perfect, but we loved each other through the thick and thin. He was so good to me. I feel so lucky to have had him in my life.” Bernie had died several years ago, and she still missed him.

I mentioned that there could soon be a joyous and loving homecoming. Her head rolled to face me as she smiled and said she was very much looking forward to that. And then the tables turned as is so often the case when I come and try to “do” ministry. Vivian began to witness, to speak of faith and hope. Her excitement to go to her real home and be with Jesus. She told me she was ready, “If Jesus wants me tonight, I’ll go. I’m ready.”

There was so much conviction in her voice, so much certainty, like the clarity that following tonight’s darkness, would come a new dawn. Just like every day. There would be dark, followed by light. I live here now, but soon I will walk with Jesus. This wasn’t a synthetic faith as so often comes from the pulpit or pew. This was real, this was at her core. This faith was her foundation. Though she may have been frail with age and infirmity, her faith was strong and solid.

I invited the three of them to join me in prayer as I lifted-up each of them, but especially Vivian. I prayed for a peaceful journey, and a joyous homecoming. After praying I gave my phone number to Kate and asked her to call if they needed me again or wanted to give me an update. The call never came. A week later, I still have no idea what happened to Vivian. We had all been just strangers that passed in the night.

Driving home at 2:30 a.m. through the darkened, quiet, and sleeping city, I smiled. I turned off my radio. I’d had the privilege of meeting a saint. Saint Vivian. She had blessed with her smiles, her stories and most of all her faith. I’m not sure of the why’s or what’s of fate or destiny that had brought us together for this brief moment in time. I’m one who normally asks a lot of “why did this happen? How did this intersection happen? What was I supposed to learn from this? type questions.  No answers came. It just was.

May God bless you on your journey Vivian. You certainly blessed me.

-- Rollie J.

“E.L. Doctorow once said that 'Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you." You can make the whole journey that way!

None of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living. Romans 14:7-9

John 11: 17-27: "I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die."

John 14: 1-6: "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, and you are mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned. For I am the Lord your God. Isaiah 43:1-2

LIFE BETWEEN THE “DASH”
I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone from the beginning...to the end.
He noted that first came her date of birth and spoke the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the “dash” between those years.  (1934 -1998)
For that dash represents all the time, that she spent alive on earth...
and now only those who loved her, know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own; the cars...the house...the cash,
what matters is how we live and love and how we spend our “dash”.
So think about this long and hard...are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left, that can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough to consider what's true and real,
and always try to understand the way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger, and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives like we've never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect, and more often wear a smile...
remembering that this special “dash” might only last a little while.
So, when your eulogy's being read with your life's actions to rehash...
would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your “dash”?
Copyright by Linda Ellis

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