One holiday weekend while sitting in a group Bible study, I was startled by a call from my wife. My mother-in-law had fallen on her head and was in the ER. Leaving immediately, I sped down the highway, a one-hour drive to the hospital, thinking the worst: brain injury, coma, paralysis, speech aphasia, wheelchair, 24-7 care, perhaps a premature death. I was beside myself, remembering my own father’s fall on his head. Time both raced and stopped.

When I walked into the waiting room of the small community hospital, I hastened to learn how they would handle a brain bleed and trauma to the head. I knew hours were critical, and my neuroradiologist son would be there to help. Inside the assigned room, my wife sat next to my mother-in-law who was conscious and chatting. She seemed alert and responsive as we waited for the results of the CAT scan. I knew, even then, we would have no assurance of safety, as the worst can happen after just a day or two. I thought of a gentleman I met years back. Fresh into retirement, he lost his balance, hit his head on the ground on the tennis court, and days later he was gone.

Not wanting to add congestion to my mother-in-law's room with staff going in and out, I dropped back into the waiting room. Carefully trying to block out the faces and situations of others around me, I couldn’t help but notice a woman sitting on the floor in tears, crying out, wrestling feverishly with anger over the trauma of a loved one. Minutes later, a woman and her teenaged son struggled as she attempted to get him into the room and sit down. She begged him to stay inside and await treatment but was met with equal fortitude and resolve. “Charlie” implored for a priest—not a doctor. The mother assured Charlie that he was in a place where he could get help, and that he should calm down and think positive thoughts. Nothing registered with Charlie. I declined to look in their direction, let alone make eye contact with either of them. I felt palpably ashamed that I was drawn into their world as a total stranger while facing my own family’s ER trauma.

The ER intake nurse tried a few questions, and the mother explained that yesterday evening her son was out with friends and had some drinks and some hash (drugs). Charlie meanwhile refused to sit down and leaned hard toward the glass door vestibule entrance ready to walk out for good. His mother and the nurse restrained him while he continued to plead for her to find a priest; she promised that there would be a priest and that help was on the way. Then two summoned cops nonchalantly stepped in. After chatting quietly with the mother, one said, “Ma’am, we can’t help you.”

By this time, I was looking into the faces, the gestures, and the angst inside the words. Surely it was impolite to eavesdrop and try to sort out what was unfolding. Every family has dark secrets, and this one happened to be playing out in front of all. Who can cast any stones? In my spirit, I understood that this moment was not relational, psychological, or clinical. It was spiritual. I stared out the window, and thought very hard—am I a priest, a minister, a caretaker, counselor, or clinician? I feared if I reached out and prayed with this mother and especially her son, how would they react? Am I a Christian, really? My mind rushed through what Christ did, what He taught, how He had intervened so many times in my own life and in my circle of friends.

I stepped forward. “Let’s go outside and pray together.” Making eye contact with me, Charlie quickly agreed. Once in the vestibule, he announced, “Let’s get out of there.” But this could not happen. I assured him that once we prayed to God for His help, we would find help right there. I placed my left arm on his shoulder and immediately sensed all the tension seething out of him. “Charlie, we’re going to pray to God right now. Repeat this prayer,” and he agreed. “Dear God, you know what is going on with me—You are right here now, and I don’t have to be afraid—Help me get healed—Whatever was in the past is over, and you can help me—You have the power to do this—God, thank you for all this.—In Jesus' name, Amen.”

Somehow, Charlie’s face was flushed with relief. He then relented and stepped back into the waiting room. His thanks were effusive. I captured the look on his mother’s face and knew once again that this whole world cannot go against a mother’s love. Back in the ER triage area, she thanked me. Charlie had calmed down and was getting his weight taken. I gave her a short tract and highlighted a prayer that he could pray. (And I prayed that she would pray it too.) Later, I noticed that she was calmly reading the tract with her son.

It is not hard to connect the dots, if we let Him do so: A crazy fall of my mother-in-law (thankfully the CT was negative), driving to a far-away ER, encountering at that time an unwelcomed battle between mother and son, yet finding a way to share the love of God. I am not a cog in a wheel; I am not a result of faceless forces beyond my control. I am commissioned. I cannot elevate myself or another. For my sake, this week I was reminded that while He was rich, He became poor for me. Now I am rich, not so much to be generous with things, but generous with Truth, spoken in love.

God's power, when mixed with love, can be made manifest at any time.

Gregory Yu lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. He has been a Christ-follower since college. He is a counselor, mentor, writer, and evangelist.