I learned a lot about Jesus’ love when I was a child of eight years lying in a Catholic hospital bed in Pocatello, Idaho. Jesus was very much a part of the life of a head nurse named Sister Mary John. I was beginning to recover from an emergency appendectomy. My parents were my only visitors. I was a cross, depressed, lonely and hurting little girl. My bed was located in a second story room, close to the window and when I was well enough to sit up a little I could look down upon a walled garden. Never had I seen such loveliness. And sometimes, making it even more lovely, there would be one or two black and white figures gracefully kneeling in prayer or sitting quietly on a white bench surrounded by colorful roses and white lilies. I did so long to be down there with them. It looked like Jesus’ garden and I felt that His spirit must be in the sisters there, for their work was helping to care for the patients who were hurting like I was.
One day soon after my emergency surgery a nurse came into my room and I was being cross and pushing away my food. She was old – very wrinkled and she had a strange high voice like a cracked piccolo. I decided to hurry and eat as she told me to do because she must be a “sister-nurse-witch” and I was afraid of her. When she was around I did what she wanted just to get rid of her. Even the other nurses seemed afraid of her.
One day another nurse came in and saw that I was looking down at the garden. She became quite upset and said in a very stern voice “My dear girl – what are you doing? You have not right to look down into our garden. It is a holy place” and she closed the shades, darkening the room and left me alone in those shadows. I cried – I felt like I must have really sinned badly. I felt utterly condemned. Was I never again to see that precious garden where Jesus’ statue stood?
When my mother came in before an hour had passed, she asked why the shade was down. I tearfully told her about my wrong – doing. She hurried out of the room and returned with – guess – who – the wrinkled sister-nurse-witch. My mother said “Now you tell Sister Mary John all about the garden” I did but I knew that she would bawl me out so I kept saying – I’m sorry – I’m sorry. She listened – the little old old old sister-nurse and suddenly her face screwed all up and I didn’t know whether she was going to yell at me or cry. Then in her funny voice she said to me. “Betty Lou, that is Jesus’ garden down there and as long as you are here it is your garden also. He made this earth for all of us and he made it beautiful.” She opened the shades and we looked down – the three of us. Suddenly I looked at Sister Mary John as she smiled at me and kissed me, she began to look like an angel. She understood me and she cared. I was a cross, unhappy and hurting child and she loved me– just like my mother and father loved me – and like Jesus loved me. I saw Jesus’ love in her wrinkled funny face and I accepted her as she held me in her arms in a wonderful hug. I even loved that voice of hers that now sounded just right to me.
She had been working to make me well in her own way and I had feared her and couldn’t see beyond what I thought was ugliness. She had accepted me as a beloved child of God as she did all her patients and I found this idea in my mind – the Lord’s spirit can be in everyone – if they allow it – and it doesn’t matter how old or wrinkled or how young or cross or how hurting and lonely you are. And you are loved and you can love.
Now I am at a different stage of life and am old old old and wrinkled and have a cracked piccolo voice when I try to sing and want to be accepted where I am now. I still want to accept others where they are. That’s where love begins and grows and grows. Love finds me through the people I reach out for. I can’t sit back or hide, or ignore people because then that special love can’t find me.
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