A Holy Moment

A Holy Moment

From Chicken Soup for the Grandma's Soul

A Holy Moment

Holiness is not a luxury for the few; it is not just for some people.
It is meant for you and for me and for all of us.
It is a simple duty, because if we learn to love, we learn to be holy.

Mother Teresa

No one feels very holy at 4:00 A.M., especially not me. Normally I would be fast asleep at this time, but a family emergency made it necessary for me to set my alarm and arise at this dark hour. I trip over my shoes as I round the foot of the bed and head for the hall bathroom to put on my glasses and begin the treatment regimen.

Two-year-old Andrew has pneumonia again. Having never fully recovered from it four weeks ago, Andrew had an asthma attack, tonsillitis and a relapse of pneumonia accompanied by bronchitis. His parents, my daughter and son-in-law, are exhausted. The treatment plan calls for breathing treatments every four hours around the clock, so we are taking turns. Melissa stays up for the midnight treatment, I do the 4:00 A.M. and David gets the 8:00 A.M. just before leaving for work.

I look in on Andrew. He is sleeping peacefully as I prepare the vials of medication and pour them into the nebulizer. I must make sure he breathes the healing vapors until they stop steaming. This usually takes thirty minutes. The steam begins, and with it are my prayers for his recovery.

Andrew opens one eye. He sees “Mimi” and goes back to sleep. Sometimes he will mumble something about Rock City or the fish zoo (aquarium). Andrew is a trouper. He isn’t alarmed at having his sleep disturbed. He’s had scores of breathing treatments in his young life. He is all too familiar with having them, yet, gentle soul that he is, he makes no resistance. At two years, one month old, he weighs a whopping twenty-six pounds. We call him our “sunshine boy” because when he begins to have breathing problems, his mother holds him close, singing “You are my sunshine” to calm him.

As I hold the tube with healing vapors close to Andrew’s nose and mouth, I remember that God is always hovering over me, especially when I am at my lowest point. His spirit broods over me, acting as a healing agent to cover me with a vapor of prayer. Too often, I am unconscious of the effort God is making, just as Andrew is unaware of me holding life-giving fumes to his nostrils. He is relaxed and rested, trusting in the care of those who love him.

Andrew’s lungs will heal with proper treatment, medication and time. Doctors assure us that he will outgrow the asthma to become a strong young man. The pediatric pulmonary specialist has every confidence that the asthma attacks will lessen with age. That’s what we pray for.

Becoming a grandmother has opened my soul to God’s heart. Things that previously made no sense are now clear. But I suppose mortality is easily felt and moments treasured at 4:00 A.M. Before today I wouldn’t have considered lost sleep a gift. But to kneel by my grandson’s bed and minister to him at 4:00 A.M. is a special moment, a chance to talk to my Father and an opportunity to serve. I never felt more holy.

Sheila S. Hudson

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