When Sara texted me that she was starving, and tired, but couldn't leave the ER, I realized that she had an obligation there. It was not to be a supportive daughter or granddaughter, but to be the only pathway through which her mom and grandpa would understand what was happening; the voice of the family in an emergency. At 14, she was expected to be the one who translated through the receptionist, the nurses, the doctors; to make sure that everything was getting done to take care of her grandpa, and communicate that to her mom. And nobody had to ask her to do that, she assumed this role immediately, as she so often does.
So I took Sara's complaint about being hungry as her maybe wanting me to be there and brought some fast food. The receptionist somehow gave me a family pass (thanks God!) and the four of us sat in the hospital room as different nurses and students entered and looked at me oddly, took vitals, and slid out of the room. One of the nurses was inspecting us so carefully, Sara's mom pointed it out to me, irritated that it was so odd to them that a Hispanic family would have a white friend.
The doctor eventually came and began to ask questions about her grandpa's injury and Sara translated. She asked her grandpa, Jose, health questions, as he tried to remember his health history and who diagnosed him with what, when and where. Jose couldn't remember the name of the doctor he had seen, because the name was American (Imagine trying to remember a long Hispanic name, or how to spell it). Jose tried to remember the names of the prescriptions he has as we all tried to translate letters of some lengthy pharmaceutical name. The ER doctor was direct and cold in his demeanor, seemingly impatient with a language barrier and a long list of rooms full of tired, needy people. He told Sara that he would not be able to count her as an official interpreter because of her age, but continued to use her until they got an interpreter on the phone.
The nurse got the interpreter on the phone and Jose and the doctor were able to communicate uninterrupted by Sara, her mom, or myself trying to fill in the gaps of what we didn't know how to say medically. Sara let out a frustrated breath and rolled her eyes as the doctor asked the same questions through the phone that she answered for him, as if he was nullifying her hard work. The doctor and Jose both hung up the phone, and those few minutes of clarity in communication were over. Nurses and technicians continued to come in and out, and I helped Sara to understand what they were doing, so that she could explain to her family. After several visits of that same nurse staring at us, he finally began to prod Sara. "So you are the grandaughter..." and Sara playfully said, "yeah," as if she knew where this was going.
His gaze turned towards me, "and..." he was hoping I would jump in. I didn't. "She's my sister," Sara was looking for a reaction. I just remained silent to let the two of them play this out, it was just too funny. The nurse's curiosity was killing him, you could feel it in the air. He didn't respond. Sara burst out, "I'm just playin....but somethin like that." The nurse was slow to speak, "so you are friends?" "Well...yeah," Sara answered. He expected me to be insulted by her hesitation to say we were friends, hoping to get a reaction out of me, he hissed "aww, she's saying your not friends!" Again, I just kept silent and let Sara be the one to explain our relationship, interested myself in what she would say. I'm sure the nurse was hoping now he had never asked. Sara eventually replied, "we go to the same church," which just hung in the air.
As the night went on, it seemed as though peoples attitudes towards us were changing. The impatient doctor began throwing in Spanish words, making an attempt to step into their comfort, and out of his. After we asked that same suspecting nurse for a blanket, he came by again and again to make sure we didn't need more. Later Sara and I were looking all over for a microwave to no avail, to warm up the food I brought hours earlier. After we gave up and sat down in the room, a nursing student came in and asked, "can I bring you guys anything warm to eat?" and I nearly laughed at her... because God is just so like that.
In my exhaustion after a long week, I had nothing to offer but my presence. I look back at last night and see his hand comforting and holding not just their family, but me as well, in that hospital room. I see Jose's laughter and jokes in the midst of intense pain as joy from the Lord. I see those nurses and doctors turning from silent uncertainty, to heartfelt hospitality, as God serving this immigrant family a glass of water on a desert journey.
Sara's family didn't need me to save the day and make everyone feel better last night, as he is often reminding me of. He didn't need me to "be" anything. I'm not Sara's friend, I'm not the translator, I'm not the youth pastor or the advocate. I am not defined by what I do and who I serve. God has been convicting me to just trust him in me and let him do the work.
"...it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me..." (Gal. 2:20).
God just wanted me to be the girl that "goes to the same church," a family member in Christ; a sister. "Somethin like that," as Sara said, was pretty accurate. They didn't need me to be there, God just wanted me to be where his heart is and enjoy it; to see how capable he is. He wanted me to go and find compassion, joy, and restoration in the most unsuspecting places. God's heart is in the emergency room. He is with the hurting and hopeless. And I praise him that we can sit in those moments of exhaustion, waiting for help, and be restored by his presence while surrounded by disaster.
And the LORD said, “I will cause all my goodness to pass in front of you, and I will proclaim my name, the LORD, in your presence. I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.
Exodus 33:18-20
Exodus 33:18-20
