I was making care deliveries at the hospital one day, carrying care boxes, prayer quilts, and all the little things we hope bring comfort and hope to people walking through really hard seasons.
Hospitals are something else, aren’t they? They hold heartbreak and hope all at the same time.
The elevator doors opened on one floor, and a young couple stepped in carrying balloons and flowers. Their faces were glowing. You could feel the joy all around them. Brand new baby joy. The kind that makes everyone smile without even realizing it.
A few floors later, the doors opened again.
An older man stepped in alone.
Red eyes. Heavy shoulders. Quiet heartbreak.
He held a small plastic bag in his hand with what looked to be his wife’s belongings inside. A hairbrush. A folded shirt. Just ordinary things that suddenly didn’t feel ordinary at all.
And there we all stood together for just a few moments.
One family celebrating new life.
One man carrying unimaginable grief.
And me standing there with care boxes headed to patients fighting battles of their own.
I remember thinking, “This right here is life.”
Joy and sorrow standing shoulder to shoulder.
One person walking into a beginning.
Another walking through a goodbye.
We truly never know what someone beside us is carrying.
That elevator ride stayed with me because it reminded me again why kindness matters so much. Why encouragement matters. Why a smile matters. Why a prayer matters.
Small things are often the really big things.
Sometimes people are barely holding it together, and one small act of love can brighten a day more than we will ever know.
Either way, I hope you know this:
God sees you on every floor.
In every season.
In every moment.
And sometimes the holiest places are not churches at all.
Sometimes they are elevators filled with ordinary people carrying invisible stories.
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