Pretty in Pink--Part 1

A few weeks ago I made a new friend named Sarah. Sarah had pink hair. Sarah and I had a nice chat. Sarah and I also happened to have met at the hospital. In the emergency room.


Do read on.



Let's start at the beginning (it's a very good place to start...I really hope you got that "Sound of Music" reference). Exciting things were happening in my Hebrew Prophets class a few Thursdays ago. Of course the conversation about First- Deutero- and Trito-Isaiah was exciting enough, but then I realized that the girl next to me wasn't taking notes. Or blinking. Or really responding to anything at all. She was, however, shaking. Not a good sign, I thought. Asking if she was okay, she shrugged it off, "I'm fine, don't worry." Five minutes later, she was no better. Seven minutes later we decided that class wasn't the best place for her to be and left (later on we had to apologize to the professor, who was being observed for a promotion that day...great timing). Nine minutes later we decided that the hospital was in order, and thus I met Sarah-with-the-pink-hair.

It was quite an adventure.

Here is where I must admit to something: when I'm incredibly bored, or maybe just a little bit bored, or really when I just can't find anything more interesting, I tend to eavesdrop. It may be wrong and it may be rude but it also makes for some very interesting blog entries and so I beg your forgiveness. So there I sat, in the waiting room of the hospital in the world's most uncomfortable chair (obviously designed to keep you coming back to the hospital with back problems) with the world's most boring news station playing in the background (what? Singapore Airlines had to ask people not to engage in any funny business in their new first class cabins with double beds? Scandal!) when suddenly I heard something decidedly more interesting than Australian millionaires complaining about the "course of nature" in air travel--the woman behind me crying on the phone.
"I just don't know what to do," she sobbed, "maybe I'll call Planned Parenthood, maybe they'll be able to help me."

Interesting.

Slowly I turned, ever the epitome of cool, to look back and see who the woman was. It was the one with the pink hair that I'd seen walking in behind me and my friend (who was now back with the doctor) when we came to the hospital. I wonder why she needs to go to Planned Parenthood, I thought, why would someone need to go there unless they had not, in fact, planned to become a parent? Soon my question was answered as I heard her voice again, "Hi, is this Planned Parenthood? Oh good, um, I need some help..." my ears perked up in anticipation "...I...well..." she burst out into tears "I just had a miscarriage.......and my.....my.....my doctor said that I have to get a shot in the next 72 hours or..........I won't be able to have any more children and I'm.............I'm at the hospital but......but they're not helping me and time is running out and I didn't know if it's something you can help me with..."

The rest of her conversation was lost to the river of shameful That's why you shouldn't judge people....you know what they say about assuming-type thoughts running through my head. It was absolutely heartbreaking. I looked back again. She'd obviously been crying for awhile; the now puffy skin around her eyes matching the color of her hair and the small mountain of crumpled tissues peeking out of the purse at her feet made that perfectly clear.

It was then that I heard The Voice. Oh yes, that one. You know the one I'm talking about. The Voice that taps you on the shoulder and whispers You know, you should really go (fill in the one thing that you absolutely have no interest in doing) when you're having a bad day and are far too busy to go do things for God. Well, I was having a semi-bad day, and I really was far too busy to go do things for God so it only makes sense that the Voice was speaking to me, telling me to go speak with the sobbing woman in my midst.
Now???????? I asked. Seriously? She's a mess, she won't want to talk to me, she'll be embarassed.
You'll never know unless you try, besides, think of that tattoo you'd get if you could get one.
Oh The Voice is tricky, isn't it? It just so happens that if I were ever to choose to sear something into my flesh it would be a twofold design: "His hands" on my wrist and "His feet" on my ankle, both preferrably in some sort of Biblical language to remind me that we are God's hands and feet to the world.
Yeah God, I thought, throw that one back in my face, why don't you?
I did.


God really has a sense of humor sometimes.

At some point in my mental tyrade, the woman with the pink hair had finished her conversation and walked out the sliding glass doors to the parking lot.

Oh great, I've lost my chance.
You wouldn't have lost it if you'd just done what I said when I said it.
.................I guess You're right.


What happens next? Does the woman with the pink hair come back to the hospital? Do I ever start listening to God? Find out next time!