We were delayed in the waiting room today. My friend Caz took me down.
40 minutes delay, it said, when we got there.
And then a few minutes later, 50 minutes delay.
Oh, well, said Caz. All the more time to do some knitting!
We looked over at the knitting. And decided to chat instead. Much easier.
Out came an old man. He is wearing joggers and an ancient hospital robe.
They needed to recalibrate the machine, he says. He sounds agitated.
I'm sorry, he says to us.
Don't worry at all! we beam at him. We're having a lovely chat!
He shuffles out of the room.
Machine, be recalibrated, says Caz. In Jesus' name.
Amen, I say. And we laugh together, confident in our prayer.
The waiting is filled with laughter and giggles, as Caz tells me about Israel, trips up North, and stories of her life.
After an hour I am seen.
We are SO SORRY, say the nurses.
Don't worry at ALL, I say. We've been having fun in the waiting room. Am I the last?
Yes, they say. It's been awful since 4.30. We always feel so sorry for you all.
And they busy themselves with measuring me up, and they leave the room, cheerily waving.
This time Father God wafts a beautifully light silk cloth, and it sinks slowly down onto my skin, covering me from top to toe, protecting me from harm. And I lie there while the rays hammer, quietly loving him.
The journey home is much faster, and we arrive back to see Husband through the kitchen window.
I thank Caz.
I'm going to pray for you, she says. And she does. And I feel such peace and joy fill me as she speaks words over me and through me.
We say goodbye and Caz leaves in her snazzy white mini.
I wave.
And go in for supper, a glass of wine and a bath. Bliss, or what.
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