A Single Moment of Grace

“A single moment of grace is more than enough to pay the soul back for all the trials she could ever endure in this life.” Teresa of Avila, The Book of My Life (1562)

On Monday morning at about 9:00 a.m. in Room 8251 on the neurological unit at St. Mary’s Hospital in Duluth, I was in the presence of the Holy One—it was definitely what Teresa calls “a single moment of grace”—and I am filled with thankfulness because of it.

Shortly after my daughter Rebecca got home after working the 3:00-11:00 p.m. shift at Bethany Crisis Shelter on Sunday night, she woke me up to say that she’d received an email from her best friend, Linnea Johnson, who wrote to say her dad, Don, had been admitted to St. Mary’s that night because he was suffering from a temporary memory loss that doctors diagnosed as most likely “transient global amnesia.”

I got up to check my email then and found more information from Don’s wife, Chris, explaining the situation. On Sunday morning after church, Don and Chris stopped by for a short visit to drink coffee and eat caramel rolls; however, later in the day, Don’s recollection of church and being at our house was hazy at best. She became concerned and took Don to the emergency room in the early evening. He was to be in the hospital overnight for more brain tests and observation on Monday. “Prayers appreciated,” Chris wrote, so I sent an email back, prayed hard for them all and then—knowing that God does not slumber—crawled back into bed and eventually went to sleep.

By Monday morning at 8:30, I was at the hospital to check on Don and Chris. Our friend Dave Rogotzke was already there, and the three were in the middle of a good conversation. Don was looking and feeling good. Soon after I arrived, Don’s family practice doctor came for an informal check-in, and then a short time after the doctor left the Holy One showed up. Dave was talking when it happened, and I’m not sure how to explain it. There was just a change in the room—“a single moment of grace”—something noticeable to all. The Spirit of God quietly entered the room, joining us very peacefully and blessing the conversation with love, laughter and tenderness. Soon Dave and I were on our way, but before we left the room, the four of us held hands, circling Don in the bed, and said a prayer together.

By 4:15 p.m. on Monday, Don was home. All the tests were normal and indicated the initial diagnosis was correct. “Transient global amnesia” is a rare medical condition, something the doctors call “idiopathic,” which is another way to say “we see this, but we cannot explain it.”

The doctors cannot explain what happened to Don on Sunday morning any better than I can explain what happened to Don, Chris, Dave and me on Monday morning. Life is full of wonder and mystery—many things are beyond our knowing, never to be explained. In the midst of all the uncertainty, we can rely this: God loves us and is always with us; God never sleeps and spends lots of time in hospital rooms. And for that, especially today, I am truly thankful.