Window of the Divine

The sun shone in the window after a day of rain. The light gave vibrance to the vases of flowers, greeting cards and startched white linen sheets. No machines were beeping, no nurses were scurrying, and no one sat in the chair in the corner. Walking further into the room I saw her face turned toward the window awaiting the divine.

She used to be the hospice chaplin whose duty it was to bring spiritual guidance. I pictured her on the opposite side, sitting by the bed, holding the hand, watching the eyes of countless people looking in anticipation towards whatever it was that came next.

I held her hand softly and looked into her face. I could not help but wonder if her life as a pastor had prepared her for this moment. Would she get to go to the head of the line on at the gate?