“Pray for clarity of thought and peace.”

That’s the email I sent to Nancy early Tuesday morning.

I had been called to the kind of hospital event which most worries me and I felt out of practice and unprepared. And worried.

I emailed Nancy. I checked my notes. I started out of the office a couple times. I finally, one last time, said, “God, please help.”

And I went.

It was fine, a good visit actually. Not in the happy sense, but in the “I was present and engaged and didn’t cry much and the patient was helped” sense.

And then I went about my day.

After a bit, I went visiting in a hallway where we see the new patients. One man told me a bit of his story and God’s presence in that story. He said,  “We don’t have to worry about what’s going to happen each day.” I nodded. And I thought, “We don’t have to, but that doesn’t stop us.”

And I got paged away to seemingly more urgent visits. A few hours later, I went back to the same hallway, different room. Another man told me a bit of his story and God’s presence in that story. He said, “I don’t have to worry about what’s going to happen.” I nodded. And I thought, “we don’t have to, but that doesn’t stop us.”

And I started to grin. I thought about little notes of encouragement that suddenly appear when we least expect them. And I remembered how the day started. Even before my email to Nancy.

On Tuesday morning, I had published words I had spoken on Sunday. In telling the story of Zacchaeus, I had said, “When we’re looking for Jesus, Jesus knows. And notices.”

By the end of Tuesday, I knew he knew me by name. Looking up in my chaplain tree where I was watching for him to walk by. Calling me to come into the parade.

No worries.