I Am the Rich Young Ruler

I spent most of the night yesterday at Parkland Hospital, the county hospital where the majority of the poor and uninsured go when they are sick or injured. My friend works as an OT at Parkland in the burn unit. She has been experiencing some neurological abnormalities so she went to the ER to be seen by a Parkland Neurologist. Though she was enjoying some personal benefits of being a Parkland Employee, we still had to pass through a sea of people to find her in one of the hundreds of make-shift beds lined up in the hall. There was not one square foot that did not have the word “patient” above a bed or chair in the hall. The rooms were reserved for those who needed special monitoring or those who had been admitted with traumatic injuries.

The large waiting room was full of people who knew they would be waiting for hours on end because they were down the line in the triage system. I was in the elevator with one man who said he had been up 24 hours and couldn’t wait any longer so he was going home to sleep and return the next morning. Blood pressure cuffs were handed out as those waiting had their vitals checked to see if they needed to be moved up in the line.

As a former, middle class, white female I tried to imagine being down there with one of my grandchildren or being indigent with no strings to pull and no power to take control of my health care. I saw first hand what it would be like to be at the mercy of the system. My nice north Dallas doctor’s office with nice furniture and a nice receptionist is like going to the doctor at the Ritz. And my insurance picks up the bill!

Today I am embarrassed to acknowledge that I live in an isolated world. I don’t have to face people who can’t pay their bills. I don’t have to see people who are powerless over their basic needs. I don’t see people who were born into a system of poverty with very little chance of breaking free. I don’t see people who are sick and have to walk or find public transportation to a crowded ER. I don’t see anything but my comfortable home, with my comfortable life style and all of the “things” I use to keep me busy and put me in situations where I don’t have to see. God forgive me for not doing anything for people in my community who need my help. Surely, this is what Jesus calls us to do. But I’ve become the rich young ruler.
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Yelling and Pleading with God

Many of you know that I have a severely disabled son, Ricardo. When I first adopted him at age five, I prayed and prayed for God to heal him of his past that tormented him and caused aggressive behaviors born out of his survival for self protection. Through the years, his mental limitations and emotional struggles were attributed to much more than his past. Several years ago he was finally diagnosed with a rare genetic disease that progresses as he gets older. Watching him decline is sad beyond words. Most days, I can get by with gratitude for the life we’ve shared or the small window of light that still finds a way to occasionally shine in his eyes. There are rare times that he perks up when he sees old friends or he’s in a room full of people.

But most days, he is trapped in an anxious, weakened body that only finds relief when he sleeps.

On Sunday, I heard a song called, “I Will Be Free.”

I will be free,
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain…

And I'll dance on silver moonlight
And I'll walk through velvet fields
And I'll run into the arms that set me free
For I will be free

I burst into tears as I saw Ricardo whole, healed and running up the mountain. Then I began begging, yelling and pleading with God to heal him. As I pictured him running again as he did when he was five or smiling and laughing as he did only a few years ago, I woke up from the miracle of his healing to the reality that only in death will Ricardo be healed. But I am not ready to let him go! If I entertain those pictures, I feel like I’m giving in to death.

There is no answer! There is no relief for him, outside of God intervening. And with over twenty years of praying for healing I just don’t believe that is going to happen in this life. So on day three of longing for my son from years past, I watch him sleep and stare at his face. I’m grateful for each breath he takes and I’m lost in my thoughts of what could have been, if only….

• Think of a time in your life when your heart was breaking and it appeared as though God was silent.
• Have you allowed time, expressed sadness and grief to help you heal or have you lived in denial, pushing down hurt and pain?
• Do you have a safe community that will allow you to be broken and allow God the time and space to prepare you for living with loss?

I could have ended this story with the truth of God’s comfort and presence in the pain. But there are times when the story must be told in the midst of our deepest sadness before we move on to acceptance.
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