Sun and Rain

I drive to the hospital…again. And as I do, I ponder the question: Have I crossed a line? 

“Enough, Jana. Enough drama with this family.”

But something compels me. Is it You, Lord?

Am I doing this for the right reasons? Or do I get some sort of twisted joy from continuing my relationship with this problem-riddled family?

I don’t want to keep doing this if it is not in obedience to Him. My visits are always awkward. I would be happy to stay home and not soil my clothes with disease and burn my eyes with the stuff I see going on in this family’s home. But I can’t stop. Somehow I know I’m supposed to keep doing this. And now Alia* is sick and no one will visit her.

Maybe I should pull together a story to tell Alia today. A Bible story about Jesus healing someone. She’s more alert. She could probably listen. But somehow I can’t make it happen. Even though it makes little sense to me, I feel like I am just supposed to sit with her, not tell her a story. 

Rain for the Righteous and the Unrighteous

Words of Scripture come to me. I can’t remember the context or the reference, but I repeat these words in my mind as I pull into the parking lot: The Lord sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 

The Lord sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. The Lord doesn’t just do it once; He does it repeatedly. I don’t just visit Alia once; I visit repeatedly. I copy my Father.

The righteous and the unrighteous. Both get sun. Both get rain.

At the Hospital

I stop to buy two bread rolls that Alia has asked for. I also bring a new clean hand towel, as I noticed that last time, she coughed and cried into a dirty one, the only one she had. 

In the ward, Alia points to the sack I hold. I show her the buns: a red-bean-filled one and a pandan-filled one. She points to the red bean one and I open the plastic for her. She grabs and eats it. No “Thank you.” I give her the clean towel. She nods…in acknowledgment, but not gratitude.

“I want to call my husband.” Her voice is weak. I give her my phone and as soon as he answers, Alia bursts into tears. Today her tears are a faucet that she seems to turn off and on at will. I pat her shoulder as she cries. Who am I to judge? She’s dying. The sin of manipulation is not exactly her biggest problem right now. 

Alia wants to go home. Her bruised arms hurt from the IV needles. She is stronger and alert now, but has nothing to fill the time and no one to talk to. She sits in her hospital bed, which is far away from the others in her ward. Is this because she is contagious, or is it because the nurses know she has a poor reputation in her neighborhood?

I ask Alia for permission to pray for her before I leave, and she agrees. As always, I ask Jesus to heal her body and her heart.

I hate to walk away. How does one exit a situation like this? Do I make a promise to return if I am not sure when I will? Do I say, “Get well soon!” to someone who is dying? I opt to say, “See you again,” and turn away, forcing one foot in front of the other, willing my feet to carry my heavy heart away.

Out Into the Sun

I pass beds with patients surrounded by family and a desk surrounded by nurses busily doing anything but caring for the patients. I take the stairs because the elevator is broken. 

I walk out into the sun: the sun that shines on the righteous and the unrighteous. 

Alia sits alone in a room filled with people. 

And God gives sun and rain to all of us.

I am God’s child, and I want to be like Him. So I will show love to the ungrateful, the manipulative, the dying. Because, but for the grace of God, that’s me too.

And because God shows His love to all of us, every day.

“He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.”

Matthew 5:45 NIV

*Alia is a pseudonym

How About You?

Have you ever felt compelled to do something, though it seemed strange at the time?

Have you been convicted/encouraged by a Scripture this week?