Beauty in the Pain

Sometimes, working the front desk is monotonous.  There are times I cringe at the sound of my own voice cheerily saying “Thank you for calling, how may I help you?” because I’ve done it fifty or a hundred times in a day.  There are times it feels so mundane to type information into a computer or repeat the same instructions for our basic procedures.  Some days my heart physically aches to do what in my mind is real ministry, real service.  And then, there are days when I am reminded that my work is God’s work.

I had such a day a few weeks ago.  I received a call from a woman looking for help for her son.  At the beginning of the call, her voice was riddled with a tone of skepticism and concern.  I followed my standard line of pre-screening questions to figure out what exactly she needed.  She hesitated to explain his situation at first, and finally conceded that her son was facing criminal charges and was currently incarcerated.  She began unpacking the story further, saying with conviction she believed he was wrongfully accused and was scared for him.  She had no money for an attorney, but he didn’t qualify for a public defender because he had posted bond.  After a few minutes, in a flustered but tentatively hopeful tone she said,  “Is there any way y’all could do something for him?”  I told her from what I had heard we indeed might be able to help, and explained she would have to come in-person to the office to fill out some paperwork on his behalf so someone could visit him in prison.  Suddenly her voice grew louder and was full of joy.  She began praising God for his goodness and for leading her to the right place.  As we finished talking, I was about to hang up when she said “Wait! One more thing.”  “Sure,” I said, “what do you need?”  “When’s your lunch hour?” she asked.  I was so caught off guard – I had expected her to ask directions or remind her what information to bring.  “Oh, um, well sometimes at 12 or sometimes at 1,” I said,  “but no matter what someone will be at the desk to help you.”  “But I want to see YOU, I want to talk to YOU” she said.  I laughed and told her I looked forward to seeing her, and she said she’d come later in the afternoon.

When she walked through to door around 2:30, I immediately knew it was her.  Before she spoke a word, something in my heart felt the connection.  Our eyes met and we both just smiled.  I said “I’m glad you made it in” and she said “I’m glad you knew it was me.”  We both flashed big smiles as I got her the paperwork and showed her how to fill it out.  She sat down and diligently filled it out as I went back to entering data into our system.  When she finished, she handed me back the clipboard and thanked me again.  I sat back down and assured her I’d file the papers right away; she said goodbye and headed toward the door.  After a few steps, she stopped and turned around.  “Um, Deirdre?” she said.  “Do you think I could give you a hug?”

Surprised but thrilled, I walked around the desk and through the doors into the lobby.  We put our arms around each other and held tightly.  In that embrace, I felt so humbled and so blessed -  to walk a small piece of a painful journey with her, to know a fraction of her story, to hold her in her pain and be a part of the glimmer of hope she needed.  After a moment we let go of one another.  She wiped away a few tears then turned and walked away.  As I sat back down, I smiled through tears of gratefulness for God’s goodness.  That day, we both needed each other.  She needed someone to listen to her story, to believe in her, to tell her things would be ok.  I needed someone to remind me my service has meaning, that God is in the midst of it, that humble work is God’s work.  And together, we found a beauty in the pain.