I looked at the empty spot where the stranger had stood a moment earlier. Had that just happened? Maybe not â€“ it had been a crazy day, after all.
It was the day we would find out the answer to many questions. My sweet Kristen had been diagnosed with LAM and on this day, we would visit a specialist who would tell us her prognosis. We would find out if she would live a significantly shorter life; if she would suffer; if we needed to make lifestyle changes. We were scared but trying not to be.
Kristen, who is developmentally delayed and has autism, read us like a book. She had heard our conversations more than we realized. She recognized our anxiety level. She didnâ€™t for one minute buy into our soothing words. She acted out on what she had heard, what she saw in our body language, and what sheâ€™d overheard earlier in the week.
It was awful.
Have you ever heard the school chant, Everywhere we go, people always know, Broncos! Broncos! Broncos! (not Denver; Denton High School)
Thatâ€™s how our day was. Everywhere we went, people always knew.
Our visit to the medical facility was a two-part appointment, one in the morning for a breathing test and the doctor visit after lunch. When we returned to the medical center, I urged Kristen to come with me to the restroom. She yelled no, stomped her feet, then followed me in.
â€œOkay, go ahead and go to the bathroom, honey,â€ I told her as I headed in to a stall.
â€œNo!â€ she yelled. â€œI donâ€™t need to go!â€ Her arms were firmly weaved together in what she calls the â€œmad armsâ€ position.
I knew she had to go. She just had two drinks. â€œKristen, please, just go. Itâ€™s not a big deal. Just go.â€
And then I heard a womanâ€™s soft voice say, â€œExcuse me.â€ I winced as I heard Kristenâ€™s usual response of, â€œNo! Excuse ME! Iâ€™m upset!â€ yelled out, and I could see and hear stomping and flailing arms, and the slamming door of the stall next to mine.
I put my head in my hands and thought, Lord, pleaseâ€¦
When I came out, there was a woman washing her hands. I turned on the water, thinking, I could ignore this or address it.
I smiled at her and said, â€œIâ€™m sorry she was rude to you.â€
The woman smiled and shook her head. Her voice was soft and sweet. â€œShe wasnâ€™t rude to me.â€ She hesitated, then said, â€œYou know, I just started praying for you. I prayed that you would have peace and just an extra measure of patience.â€
Her gentle words touched my bruised heart. All day long, Kristenâ€™s out of control behavior had been turning heads. Her words had been poisonous to Rick and me. It was my birthday, but all she knew was that something bad was happening today, and it was about this doctorâ€™s visit. No amount of cajoling or positive rewards could make up for her perception.
My eyes teared up as I took in this sweet strangerâ€™s words, thinking how badly I needed extra patience with my daughter on this crazy day, and how badly I needed peace for our uncertain future. I think her eyes were misty, too. I would have hugged her, but I wouldâ€™ve been a basket case â€“ and then what would Kristen do?
So I thanked her, and I felt encouraged.
This sweet stranger, who had nothing to gain, gave me so much that day. Her prayers and her words of mercy were rejuvenating. They were just what I needed to keep going, to look at my daughter with fresh eyes and say, Okay, I can do this, no matter what people think, or say, or how grim the prognosis.
That sweet woman changed everything for me.
I want to do that for someone. Lord, open my eyes to the needs only You know.
Kristenâ€™s prognosis was better than we imagined. We left the medical center feeling optimistic about the future and encouraged by a strangerâ€™s prayer.