Tail Wagging Joy

Long before I heard the expected harsh sounds of hospital corridors, my ears were captured by the softer sounds which were waiting as the whoosh of the automatic doors closed magically behind me. I am not sure what hospital planners call this softer space.  Back when I did daily runs to the hospital as a pastor, there was little to soften the sounds of people hurrying to ride elevators that were in no hurry.  There were voices around the desk just inside the door which sought to manage the chaos, there were the rhythmic sounds of what seemed to be wooden shoes soles scurrying down polished hallways, and the rising of whispered conversations as couples approached to pass and then to disappear around a corner.  

Today there was a welcoming inviting space which invited the walkers to do the unthinkable:  slow down.  Before the large spacious room spun those who walked in different ways, there were tables by windows which captured some of creation's glory, a gift shop, and a place where "Mom and Pop" knew everyone's name and used it when they handed them their version of the best coffee.  What really grabbed my attention was not something seen or smelled, but something heard.  Just on the edge of the mainstream a woman sat softly strumming a harp. Though late for an appointment on another floor, I could not help but slow my step to let the blessing she was giving wash over my soul a little longer.  

I remember others who have given me unexpected blessings.  There was a guy in Newport News, Va who played his bagpipes from the roof of a car garage during his lunch hour.  Over the years I have seen groups come into places where many of our old feel trapped to help them find music once again in their lives.  I have held the prayer shawl made by some Episcopal women in Fayetteville, Ga., opened my mailbox to find caring cards bearing water color paintings of birds seen by a friend outside her North Carolina window, and petted the service dog brought into a chemo treatment room for a moment of tail wagging joy.  I pray the numbers of this tribe of servants will not only increase, but that one day my face will find a way to be seen among them.