The Waiting Room

In the “Waiting Room” We are all as unique as our fingerprints.

I sat in the doctor’s office waiting for a friend to have an important but unwelcomed procedure done. I was there for moral and chauffeur support. While waiting, I busied myself first by reading a very interesting National Geographic article titled “The New Science of the Brain.”

After awhile though, my attention turned to “the people,” who were sitting and waiting all around me. There was so much physiological variety in the room! It was like a feast of every sort of desirable food. There were men and women, the old and young, those who I presumed to be American born and those I learned had arrived in this opportune land from other nations.

While I watched and studied (trying not to seem ‘weird’ by glancing up and around frequently, perking my ears to the conversations around me) I noticed a variety of activity. Some, like me, appeared to be engrossed in some of the print material placed around the office while others were engrossed in quiet conversations.

Several people, necks bent and hanging low, occupied themselves with various technological devices while one woman alone knitted. Over the course of the next 40 minutes or so, my “people learning” activity became more interesting than the article I had earlier found fascinating. I began to notice with all of the uniqueness around me, there was one human commonality which was glaringly evident in all of those present in the waiting room:

We were all in that room as either a patient or a help. Ultimately, each of us below the surface of our temporary activities, were generous souls but concerned and clearly vulnerable. Each person in the room endured the unusual experience out of concern for someone they loved, generous because they each gave of their time for someone who needed the support. We, in the room, were vulnerable because there would be an outcome to each of our visits that day which none of us could predict.

I knew for sure no one was there for the routine annual physical, simply having their reflexes checked—the ole’ knock on the knee shtick. Most were there, along with their helps, to endure an invasive test, glean important information about their long-term health or to be treated for a very serious medical problem.

We were all the same in that space in time, whether we realized it or not. Call me…here’s that word again…‘weird’ but I found it slightly intimate and largely beautiful to be among people I didn’t know, may never see again, but with whom I was connected.

Of course the fear, discomfort, long wait time and uncertainty was not admirable and not a light matter in my eyes, but it was the LIVING experience of being vulnerable which none of us in the room could alter, choose to opt-out of after a certain point or deny if we were being honest. That’s it! It was this irrefutable commonality in humankind which was beautiful. It was our shared vulnerability which made everyone else in the room relatable to me and my friend, despite our unique background or history.

My recalling of one irregular morning is a moment in time I’ve set apart in my mind while helping a friend get through one of those small but sticky points of life. It was a moment which from here on out I’ll call a “fingerprint.” A fingerprint, like every person, is composed of a unique impression, similar to what the people in the waiting room made on me. And, the impression directs my attention to Him—the Holy and Omnipotent One.

©

3/14/2014

Crystal Black, as Blackhandmade