I quietly carried a neglected breakfast tray down the hall of my intensive care unit to dispose of in its proper location. Despite my best encouragement it had gone untouched by my patient, and as I passed another occupied room I heard soft, reverent words coming through the drawn curtain.
“Father, we come to you now in desperate need…”
I kept walking swiftly past the whispered, urgent prayers of a visitor, and I was touched by the heartfelt petition I had been privy to overhearing. I heard a lot of things like that, but I knew I didn’t catch even half of them. And I thought in wonderment, for certainly not the first time, if only these walls had ears.
Indeed, if only these walls had ears they would hear many an urgent prayer uttered. Prayers for healing, prayers for pain to be taken away, and certainly prayers to lessen the ache of a grieving heart.
If only these walls had ears they would hear the tears, mournful cries of loss, racking sobs of helplessness, and shrieking wails of agony and pain.
If only these walls had ears they would hear the urgent whispers of worried family, the angry words of distraught daughters, and the frustrated fuming of parents at the point of breaking.
If only these walls had ears they would hear the concerned questions of an advocating nurse, the urgent and quick phone conversations of the staff striving to receive the answers and orders needed to intervene in the best way humanly possible.
If only these walls had ears they would hear the proficiently articulated commands of the medical team as they fought fervently to save the woman dying in the bed. It would also hear the hushed prayers and weeping of her son in the hall.
If only these walls had ears they would hear the dying husband tell his wife in a cracked, wavering voice, “it’s okay honey. I’m ready to go home now.”
If only these walls had ears they would hear the brother and sister outside their momma’s room trying to decide between their heaving tears whether she would have wanted to remain on the ventilator or not.
If only these walls had ears they would hear the shaking voice of the young husband whisper emotionally to his revived wife, “I was afraid we had lost you.”
If only these walls had ears they would hear the huddle of family clinging to one another as they cried, “now he has no more pain.”
If only these walls had ears they would hear the young physician as he hesitantly broke the debilitating news to awaiting children that dad didn’t make it off the operating table.
If only these walls had ears they would hear grateful exclamations of thanksgiving when a seemingly hopeless situation was resolved, when a life was saved, when a deadly disease was thwarted.
They would hear plenty of, “help me Lord’s,” but just as many, “thank you Jesus!”
They would hear so much heartache, but also tinkling laughter and songs of praise.
If only these walls had ears, they would hear things that shouldn’t be repeated, but also stories that deserved to be retold. They would hear loss, but also life. They would hear death, but also healing. They would hear grief, but renewal too.
If only these walls had ears, you might blush at the stories they revealed. But you would also find new hope in mankind.
And it’s true; every day I walk these halls I hear enough to last me a lifetime, and I hear a lifetime of lasting things. Yet I only hear a portion of what they have to say.
Barbara Allen says
Thank you, Brie, for sharing what I know are just a few words & emotions which you have heard. I’ve been one of those waiting & praying far too many times to count. I’ve been there when they answer was not the one that I wanted to hear but had to accept. I’ve been there when my loved one was healed & I’ve been there when I had to say good bye to my loved one for the last time. I can imagine that your job is not an easy one but no longer than I’ve been following you, I know this is your Calling. May the Lord continue to bless you & give you strength that can only come from Him. God Bless!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you.