As nurses hurried past with medication and administrators walked by with clipboards, my dad and I sat and waited. As wheelchairs and their occupants rolled on and aides delivered trays of food, we took in the scene of this small, bustling rehab center that would become his home (at least temporarily) for the foreseeable future.
After several falls and other health issues, my dad knew—as we all did—that he needed more care to regain his strength. We all agreed. We knew it was for the best, we told ourselves.
But still, uncertainty and apprehension settled upon us as he and I continued to wait, hand in hand, until the smiling social worker arrived, announcing that Room 21 was ready.
After staying behind to sign paperwork, I set out to find my dad’s room but ended up in the dining area. There, just beside the door, hung a decorative wooden plaque with the letters ASAP in a green block print. Yes, I thought in the split second that followed, they certainly hustle around here to get things done “as soon as possible,” with all the medical, physical, and emotional needs of patients in this environment of restorative care.
After a second glance though, I noticed the acronym’s real significance. It wasn’t the common meaning we utter in times of urgency, but a much more reflective one. Below the letters, in smaller flowing cursive, read the words “Always Stop And Pray.”
That split second of acknowledgment shifted to gratitude. What a different set of priorities in this simple little term. Compassion. Hope. Good fortune. My uncertainty began to wane.
When I finally entered Room 21, I couldn’t share this little treasure with my dad as he had already dozed off, exhausted from the hectic day. So, I unpacked some clothes and set up some photos, still thinking about that plaque and the two meanings it could impart.
While sometimes necessary, “as soon as possible” prompts the feeling of a hurried secular world, an idea centered on ourselves and what we can do in the least amount of time. The other, a reminder to “always stop and pray,” is a little nudge to pause, slow down and consider how God is present in those hurried lives. To lift a “thank you” or an “I need you” or an “I’m sorry” to God? That’s a reminder we all could use.
When a nurse stopped by with towels, I told her how much I appreciated that plaque, especially in a facility that was not religiously affiliated. “Don’t we all need a little prayer to get through the day?” she laughed, adding that inspirational signs of gratitude, kindness and joy were positioned throughout the facility. Over the molding on doors. On shelves in the common room. At the receptionist’s window. And they were, I noticed later, reminding me of a similar message in scripture: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
Always stop and pray. Such a clear directive, one that we can do anytime, anywhere, an open opportunity for ongoing dialogue with God. And so I did, towels in hand, as my dad continued to doze in that corner room of this compassionate place. My prayer was a simple one: a prayer of thanksgiving. He would be OK here.
