A true story. Names and other details altered slightly.

The request came Sunday afternoon from Ted’s brother who lives in another state.  I did not know Ted or his brother. Would I please visit Ted who had been admitted to the hospital on Saturday and was facing a very serious diagnosis?  The brother and I had a further conversation on Monday and I went to see Ted on Tuesday.

You never know what you might face in a hospital cold call, but I liked Ted almost instantly and, yes, though never much of a church goer, he was happy to talk with a pastor. Ted had not made any room for church and not much room for God in his life because it hadn’t seemed as if there was much need for God or any need for the church.  Saturday had changed everything.

Ted had been rear-ended on the way home from work on Friday – the day he had lost his very good job in the trades because of what turned out to be symptoms of an illness about which he would learn on Saturday and Sunday.  Amazingly, Ted had walked away from the rear-ender that had totaled his Toyota.  On Saturday a family member insisted Ted go to the ER, “just to be sure.”

No serious concerns in the aftermath of the accident, but doctors began to see some other things they did not like – those symptoms that had cost Ted his job.  Tests and scans followed and the doctors told Ted they were concerned.  By Sunday they named it in a diagnosis.

Ted had been living with the diagnosis and what it might mean for him and those who love him for about 48 hours when I walked into his hospital room, a cold call.  I listened and Ted talked.  He told the story of losing his job and the accident and then the unexpected diagnosis and what it might mean.  I learned a little bit about his family and his life and how he always believed in God, but never gave him much time.

In the middle of the conversation, a good and serious conversation, the clown walked into the room. “Care Clown,” was embroidered above the breast pocket on the white medical coat she wore. In good clown fashion, Care Clown said nothing, but she walked right between Ted and me to put the smiley face sticker on the tray table.  “It’s Always a Good Day to Smile,” the sticker read below the smiley face.

No words, but Care Clown made some clown faces in an attempt to get Ted to smile. Ted didn’t smile and I told Care Clown we were in the middle of a conversation.  She left without saying a word.

I don’t think Ted had smiled much in the 48 hours before my visit. And I don’t think every day is a good day for a smile.

King David knew about those days that are not good days for a smile:
I am weary with my moaning;
every night I flood my bed with tears;
I drench my couch with my weeping.
My eye wastes away because of grief.
(Psalm 6:6-7)

Before I left Ted’s room, Care Clown returned. As she stood in the door, waiting to come in, I shooed her away without saying a word.  It wasn’t a good day for a smile.

I was back at the hospital yesterday and stopped by Ted’s room. I met his girlfriend and we talked some more.  Ted brought up God and how he doesn’t give us more than we can handle. I talked a little bit about the strength God gives us and how he cares for us.

I didn’t see Care Clown.

Ted is undergoing surgery today and then they will know what further treatments he may need. There’s a long journey ahead.

This has not been a good week for smiling for Ted and for those who love him.

I hope to stay in touch with Ted.  I’d like tell him about something else King David knew:
Weeping may tarry for the night,
but joy comes with the morning.
(Psalm 30:5)

Whether your week has been a good week for smiling or not so good a week for smiling, I hope to see you Sunday.