On the Third Day

He was irascible and opinionated. A real handful. And because he was a patient, great patience was required. 

I probed gently, pools of blood welling up as my instrument advanced through his mouth. "Dr. Smith*, you have a lot of calculus under the gum line. The good news is, your x-rays indicate we may be able to turn your periodontal disease around. I will need to see you for four deep-cleaning appointments, though."

He grumbled, and I sighed. Four one-hour appointments with this crotchety fellow were going to be a challenge. "Help, LORD!" I silently pleaded.

I was a new Believer, having come to the LORD a few weeks earlier in October of 1984, and my newfound joy and enthusiasm could not be contained. I radiated Jesus, and with the Holy-days fast approaching, my smile often lit up the room. I know this because Dr. Smith told me.

Midway through his first treatment, he suddenly asked, "You're not expecting, are you?" 

I sat back and stared at him. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"You're glowing," he said accusingly. A few minutes later, he pushed my hands aside. "Why are you so darn happy all the time, anyway?"

I smiled and took that opportunity to share the miraculous story of my recent salvation. Dr. Smith shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but his eyes remained fixed on mine as I talked. 

"I'm glad that worked out for you," he remarked afterward.

Soon into his second appointment, Dr. Smith impatiently gestured for me to stop. "What did you do to get saved?" he queried.

I set my instruments down and reflected. 

"I told the LORD I was sorry for the wrong things I had done, I knew I couldn't get into heaven by doing good things, I believed his Son Jesus died on the cross for my sins, and I wanted to give my life to Him." 

He was silent for a moment. "That's it?" 

I nodded. 

Tears glinted in his eyes, but he said nothing. 

"Rinse, please," I said with a smile. 

We were making progress, quadrant by quadrant, but he was still not healing well. "Dr. Smith, I am doing everything I can to help you, but you are not flossing and brushing every day like I showed you."

He retorted, "Look, kid. Cleaning my teeth is YOUR job, not mine." Then, as if to soften his words, he patted my knee. 

Thanksgiving arrived before our third appointment. By the time I saw Dr. Smith again, Christmas was just around the corner, and I was overjoyed at the prospect of decorating a freshly-cut, ten-foot-tall Frasier fir tree. My husband and I had begun collecting ornaments two years earlier, and I was enthusiastic about my new hobby. 

Dr. Smith asked me to describe the ornaments to him, so I did. Our collection was eclectic: glass, brass, silver, gold, wood, and the occasional Hallmark. No two ornaments were alike, and some were artisan originals.

We chatted easily until our session was over. I scheduled his fourth and final appointment and handed him a card. For the first time, Dr. Smith gave me a hug and thanked me. "Merry Christmas!" he called back with a wave as he walked down the hall. "See you soon!"

The next afternoon my employer stepped into the operatory. "Kay," he said sadly, "I am sorry to tell you this, but Dr. Smith passed away in his sleep last night."

My heart was broken. I was fond of my new friend. Dr. Smith seemed resistant to the Light, and yet... "LORD," I prayed, "I hope our talks helped and he is safe with You now." 

I thought of Dr. Smith often during Advent. Then one morning, our receptionist walked into my operatory carrying a package. "Dr. Smith's wife was just here. She left this for you but didn't stay. She was crying,"  she said, puzzled.

I rose. What on earth?

Carefully nestled inside a presentation box were three amber ornaments. But they were not just any ornaments. They were Strini blown glass replicas from the Smithsonian Hall of Trees in Washington, DC. Tears welled up in my eyes as I read the accompanying card:

"For Kay from Dr. Smith. Merry Christmas!"

Decades have passed since I opened that package. At one point, I had amassed crates of Christmas ornaments and would decorate multiple trees over the course of many days. Now I am downsizing and gradually giving away pieces from my collection. I linger over each one, remembering its story. 

No ornaments are more precious to me than these three, however. Two will find their way to new homes this year, but I will keep one of them on my small wall tree until it's finally my turn to go home. 

Yes, Dr. Smith. I remember.

See you soon. 

Kay Seibert O'Hara

December 1, 2020

*not his real name

Circus Poodles

To the circus, we did go,
Couldn't wait to see the show!
Big cats made us gasp and shout,
Then they brought the poodles out!

We love poodles, big or small,
Black or white ones, short or tall.
If there's ten or if there's one,
Circus poodles are such fun!

On their back legs walking tall,
In a trash can, oh so small!
See them bounding in the ring,
Jumping poodles are our thing!

Laughing, talking, time to go,
We had such fun at the show!
Backward longing is our glance,
We will miss the poodles' prance!

Quietly we head on home,
What is this? We're not alone!
Barking, yipping, oh such spunk,
Circus poodles in our trunk!

Kay O'Hara
February 14, 2016

Angels Among Us

I stood patiently in line waiting for my turn to register with the guard for another after-hours visit with my eighty-seven-year-old father at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Asheville. My brother, Joe, and I had been tag-teaming visits with Dad since he had fallen ill two weeks earlier. As the guard took a man’s driver’s license and pressed it into the scanner slot on the name tag apparatus, I wondered if this new technology might have provided additional evidence of that miraculous night just two years ago…

---------------

“Kay, it’s for you,” the charge nurse called, raising her voice over the general clamor of the nurses’ station where I worked. Since my dad was having a patch repair on an old aneurysm site hundreds of miles away in North Carolina, I hurried over to take the phone. This was to be a “tune-up,” an overnight stay at the most. The positive outcome far outweighed the risk, my brother and I had been reassured. I had been waiting hours for this call; the procedure had been delayed late into the afternoon.

“Dad’s not doing well,” Joe spoke with emotion. “They can’t stop the bleeding. His arteries are too calcified and they can’t get a good seal. They found a new aneurysm, too. He’s already had eight units of blood. Can you come?”

I rushed home to gather my things and make hasty arrangements for my teenage children who would be left behind to continue on in their school routine. This was the most painful aspect of being a widow and single mother—not having someone with whom I could halve the burdens in times of emergency. I wept as I packed, grateful for the silent support of the children as they fetched important items and slipped them into my bags.

Soon after dark, I was on the road, navigating a different and hopefully faster route to the mountains by the glow of my portable GPS. Fatigue pressed in on me soon after midnight. I had been up since before five that morning and still had miles to go before I could sleep again. "Lord, help me!” I interjected into the outpouring of prayers for my father.

A short time later, I lost my way on a strange road with no paper map to clear up the confusion. A pack of coyotes suddenly appeared in my headlights. The poor creatures flew in every direction across the hood and on either side of the windshield, taking out the front end of my car. Crying and shaking, I crept onward, too afraid to get out of the car to see what mayhem I had caused, the urgency of my present errand overriding my concern for either the animals or the condition of my vehicle.

Wide-awake from the surge of adrenaline that followed the accident, I panned the GPS out until I located the main road. Eventually, I found my way back onto Hwy 25. Within an hour, I was handing my driver’s license to the hospital guard, sweat still drying on my hospital scrubs. I realized I had forgotten to change.

“Seibert… Seibert… yes, he’s in the Coli ICU. You just missed your mother. I’m surprised you didn’t pass her out in the parking deck. Hadn’t even been a couple of minutes,” he said as I signed my name.

I looked at him sharply. “Excuse me?” I queried, keeping my surprise in check. It was two in the morning. Perhaps I wasn’t hearing clearly.

“Your mother’s been here for hours. She just left,” he patiently explained as if he were speaking to a small child.

“You must be mistaken,” I replied.

“Nope. Remember the name. Unusual name. Came to see your father.” he insisted as he handed my license back to me.

I said nothing more about this, thanked him, and asked for directions. Within minutes, I was outside the locked doors of the unit, wondering if anyone would allow me to go to my dad’s bedside at such an hour. Just then, they swung open as an employee exited. Could she help me…?

One of the intangible benefits of working at a hospital is the professional courtesy that is often extended by members of other facilities. After a brief consultation with this nurse and her subsequent, “Wait here, please,” she disappeared. Soon afterward, a man ushered me to my father’s bedside, describing his serious condition and altered appearance as we walked. Disregarding the array of machines that were keeping him alive, I held my father’s hand, prayed aloud, and reassured him of my presence and my love. The team let me stay there for fifteen minutes; they once again needed the space to continue their intense battle for his life.

Numbly, I walked down the hall to the ICU waiting area. A spry, older man with a neatly trimmed Amish-style beard greeted me. He had been keeping a vigil over his dying wife in the glass cubicle next to Dad’s. We exchanged stories about our family members. Then, he began to talk about the woman who had stood in my father’s room at the foot of his bed praying for hours since his return from a second surgery that night.

“She’s been so wonderful to watch,” he mused with a smile, “Never in the way of anyone, just stood there praying the whole time. I can’t believe they let her do that. Was that your mom? A friend of your dad’s?”

I shook my head in dissent. I had no idea who this could be. All of my dad’s friends were too old to drive after dark. As for my mom… she died of a stoke barely two weeks after my husband was killed by a drunk driver. Dad and I had shared the widow/widower experience for the past eight years. It was one of the reasons we were now so close. Tears stung my eyes. What on earth?

The next morning, my brother and I convened in my dad’s room. He was on a vent, heavily sedated, in critical condition, but still with us. I asked the nurse about the late-night visitor. As he bustled about the room adjusting tubes and checking monitors, the nurse remarked that the night staff had mentioned her, but he didn’t know anything more than that.

In the days that followed, I spoke with a number of people. Though none of them could describe the woman with any certainty beyond the words, “Calm, serene, beautiful, peaceful,” she was seen by many and questioned by none. Whoever she was, she had a presence and authority about her that allowed her to be where no one else could be—at my father’s bedside in prayer until the moment I arrived.

She was never seen again.

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” Hebrews 13:2

Kay Seibert O’Hara
June 11, 2011

Do Not Die a Rebel Soul

God’s timing is precious and merciful, but it can also be just and final.

I feel as though much of America is in the midst of a brief pause, like that moment when a roller coaster reaches the top of the lift hill. In that instant, one is surreally suspended, able to feel the warmth of the sun and observe the scenery far below. It is the final moment of calm before the rapid descent into potential danger. That is the charm of roller coasters. You know you're probably going to exit the ride in one piece, but you can't be sure until it's over.

A pandemic is less fun and infinitely more dangerous than a roller coaster ride, but the surreal factor, that sense of waiting for the inevitable drop, is similar. While we do comprehend that some people are falling ill and even dying, the majority of us are still untouched and looking around in the sunshine. 

This moment should not be wasted. As a country faced with the specter of another month spent dodging COVID-19, our future remains unknown. Now is a good time to turn away from the cares and distractions of this world to soberly sit before the One that created you and ask, “Am I ready to die? Is my sin closet clean? Have I truly forgiven all those who have hurt me?”

More importantly, if you are not a person of faith or haven't given spiritual matters much thought, it might be prudent to finally hammer out what you do believe. 

April 1^st is known as Fools Day. The Bible states that only a fool does not believe in Jesus Christ, and those that do not believe will spend eternity forever separated from Him. The LORD says that He has revealed Himself through nature to everyone and none are without excuse. Though He requires sinless perfection and has judged all of us as having missed the mark, He is not willing for any to perish. Instead, He has offered the gift of eternal life through the sacrifice of his perfect His son, Jesus. 

Each of us has the freedom to receive or reject this gift. The choice is yours. 

C.S. Lewis once said, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks into our conscience, but shouts in our pains; it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world. No doubt pain as God’s megaphone is a terrible instrument; it may lead to final and unrepented rebellion. But it gives the only opportunity the bad man can have for amendment. It removes the veil; it plants the flag of truth within the fortress of the rebel soul.”

Do not die a rebel soul. Do not let this day end without distancing yourself from the foolishness of your prideful, independent nature. Confess your sins. Repent of them. Claim Christ and His promises today while you still can. Whether you are stricken in the coming weeks or remain to navigate the aftermath, you can receive the peace that passes all understanding today and the promise of eternal life to come.

Jim has. I have. Bill did. 

This passage from Scripture is carved on my late husband's headstone; it was his favorite. "Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest though this?" John 11: 25-26 (KJV)

I thank the LORD that twelve days before he was killed by a drunk driver, Bill O'Hara pressed the pause button, took stock of his life, and then did business with the LORD at the altar. He rejected the foolishness of the world, confessed his sins, and claimed Jesus Christ as his savior.

You can, too.

Kay O'Hara
April 1, 2020