Yesterday my husband was having surgery. God had given me a great deal of peace going into the procedure, until…
When the surgeon came in to talk to us I found out he was not in fact repairing my husband’s meniscus. Because of the limited blood flow to this part of the knee, the doctor would be removing the torn section to help manage the pain, but he wouldn’t be “fixing” it. The doctor left and my husband had a look of concern. But before I could try to bust us out of the joint the anesthesiologist came in and wheeled away my half groggy, shower-cap-wearing, suddenly very vulnerable looking husband.
I went to the waiting room and couldn’t stop crying. What just happened?  Why was my husband being put under and operated on? Had my husband known the doctor wasn’t actually fixing his knee? Unfortunately, he didn’t look like he knew and that was what upset me most. To see my strong, never nervous husband being wheeled away with a look of trepidation in his eyes, broke me. I didn’t know what to do so after I cried and prayed (again), I called Mary.
Mary is that friend.  She is the friend who will sit in the waiting room with you even though she has other things to do. She will decorate your Christmas tree because you just had surgery and no one else in your house will do it. Mary helps when no one else wants to, usually just by being available and listening. She visits people in jail, she makes amazing soup and she picks up the phone when her “tall Chinese friend” (what her boys’ used to call me) calls bawling.
Mary told me she was sorry.  She empathized that sometimes our men don’t give, get or communicate all the details like we do. She listened, she made me laugh and then she prayed for Chris and me. Then, she thanked me for calling (I’m telling you, this woman is part angel). 
Sometimes we churchy types tell people to just pray. We tell others to trust Jesus and he remove all our fears. We say we are never alone because Jesus is always with us. Although I know all of that to be true, I learned yesterday that Jesus’ presence, the peace and comfort He gives and the love He shows us when we need it most, sometimes manifests itself in a kind, thoughtful and selfless human being. 
When I grow up, I want to be like Mary. I want to care about others enough to listen to them, not give them advice they don’t need in the moment.  I want to call instead of text because sometimes “we need to hear each other’s voices.” I want to pray for you even though I have my own problems and hurts. I want to be like Mary when I grow up. I want to be Jesus with skin on.