Jesus is a Brown Woman in a Headscarf

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Maybe she is a Muslim. To be honest, I don’t even care. Maybe that is a simplistic stereotype because of her skin color and her head covering.

All I know is when I asked God where he was, there she was.

I was sitting in a wheelchair in my local Emergency Department, for the second time in a week since my emergency gallbladder surgery, facing an undeterminable number of hours before it was my turn to go back and get treated. I had sharp abdominal pain and relentless nausea. I made the entire room uncomfortable with my loud incessant dry-heaving.

My logical brain tried to remind me that I was ok. I had been in this exact place only a week ago and received superior care — I would be cared for again. I was safe. I was uncomfortable but I wasn’t going to die alone sitting in this wheelchair surrounded by other sick people, however much I sometimes wished for it. I wasn’t fleeing for my life from a megalomaniac dictator who was bombing my home. I was going to be ok.

My suffering brain, however, was having none of it. It only knew that I was in pain and I couldn’t stop vomiting even though there was nothing left in my system to eliminate. My world view reduced to a pin-point of misery. There was a distinct disconnect between my two perspectives, and nothing was penetrating that barrier.

My suffering brain cried out “Jesus help me!”

I tried to tuck my phone under my leg. It fell to the floor through the crack between the seat and the side. She came over, picked it up, and handed it back to me.

I set my glasses down on the chair next to me as I vomited yet again. They fell on the floor. She came over, picked them up, and carefully placed them on the chair within my reach.

I ran out of emesis basins. She quietly rose, walked over to the stack of basins, selected a fresh one, and brought it to me, removing the soiled one in my lap. She also brought me a box of tissues, noticing I had run out of those too.

She wasn’t a nurse or a volunteer. She was another patient. She was there because she was sick. She chose to reach beyond herself and her own concerns to take care of me.

The triage intake worker recommended I get reassessed by the triage nurse, which resulted in me getting bumped up on the list. It wasn’t much longer before I was taken back. They started an IV and meds.

My personal angel of mercy caught up to me, now waiting in another area for a bed to open up. I was struggling to hang my bag on my wheelchair. She came over and helped me hang it within reach. I thanked her, told her I could not have gotten through the night without her help. She shrugged and waved off my gratitude, going back to her chair in the corner. I could sense her keeping an eye on me, making sure I was ok.

She never spoke a word, but she preached an entire sermon that night, to me and anyone else who was paying attention.

I told my nurse about her. I spoke of her kindness and compassion, hoping they would take extra special care of her. I don’t know her name. I wonder if she is ok now. Has she fully recovered from whatever illness that brought her into the ED that night? I pray God’s very best blessings upon her, and for her to be showered with the same care she showed to me the next time she is in need.

My experience that night was a refresher course in a few lessons I have learned but sometimes forget:

1. When I ask God where he is, he answers.
2. When God shows up I don’t always recognize him.
3. Behind every face and gender and skin color and belief system and religion and culture and style of dress, there is a person that God deeply loves with a story that we don’t know anything about. Be kind. Always.

Lisa LeBlanc is a blogger and managing editor of the Medium publication Words On The Wing. Lisa is currently working on her first memoir project with Siretona Creative. Find more of her work here.