Marsha has a long way to go, health-wise. But when I walked into her room on Wednesday afternoon, expecting someone near death, I was greeted by a woman who was dressed, perky and had everything packed up. During the night she had made a dramatic turn for the better. Her doctor was mystified at this turn around. Rare that such a thing happens. We can't attribute this to the power of prayer because that has no scientific basis. Still, though, the turn around was amazing. She still can't walk well, although that is better than not at all. The doctor also seemed concerned because she mixes metaphors and sometimes says strange things that almost make sense, but not really. Marsha did not appreciate me saying that this was normal for her. She still has this diabetic syndrome, but it is suddenly under control. She was packed because they were sending her to a facility for rehab. I stayed with her until she was fully settled and then I went back to my motel. Our son would meet us there on Thursday morning when he got off work and just before I left to come back to Indiana. And that is the Marsha update.

        Just being there brought back memories. Where the hospital sits used to be a thick woods. Seemed odd to be sitting in a hospital where I had gone coon hunting as a boy. I didn't travel over to my hometown, nor did I go to the town where I had pastored for so long. But I was in a pensive mood and once back to my room I got to remembering.

        Often, while we are making an impact on someone's life, we don't even know it. Maybe they don't know it, either. What seems common place at the time may be changing a person's life for either good or bad. We want to be a blessing for people, but the wrong words or a misinterpreted action can spoil a person's perspective. Sitting there in my room I thought of all the folks I had known and I sincerely hoped I had affected them for the good.

        Andrea Hall was one of those who I never got to know how her life turned out. She lived with her mother and sister in a wreck of a house down from the church a ways. The house was a crack house. The police were often there, hauling people away or answering some call from the neighbors. The mother may, or may not, have been a prostitute. I was told by a local officer that regardless whatever else was happening in the house, they left the mother and daughters alone because the children needed to be with their mother. I felt the girls would have been better off in foster care, but because they were there the church was able to reach out to them. 

        The little sister was involved in Bible University, which was the name we had given to our little kids program. Andrea was in our Youth group. She had a major crush on our son, which since he was a few years older, embarrassed the daylights out of him. Both girls wore worn out clothes that were often not clean. When we had snacks the girls would devour them. They were not well regarded in school, but our kids in the Youth group treated them very well. Both girls did well in their groups, but when I would go to the house to visit the mother, no one would answer the door. It was frustrating, but you can't do more than you can do.

        Then, one day, the mother and the two girls were gone.No one knew where, including the police. It was like they had fallen off the face of the earth. I have always looked at such situations as times we lost, and it would always bother me.

        Thursday morning I was at the rehab place with Marsha. Adam hadn't gotten there yet and a nurse was explaining to Marsha what was going to be happening while another nurse took her vitals. Just then, Adam walked in with a goofy smile. He said to me, "Hey, do you remember Andrea Hall?" What a strange question, until a beautiful woman walked into the room. She looked at me and whispered, "Pastor Wade!" She was dressed sharply in the current nurses uniform, her make-up was perfect and the only flaw were the tears streaking down her face. She put her arms around me and cried. Both the other nurses were quite startled. Then she looked over and saw Marsha, and the tears came on again. She pushed past the other two nurses and bent over Marsha (who was seated) and whispered her name and hugged her tight. The nurse who was taking the vitals said, "Oh, do you know these people?" She replied quietly, "This is Pastor Wade and Marsha." That seemed to make sense to the nurses, as if they had been told a story or two. "Listen, you guys, I have to go. I am late now. But we will talk!" And out she hurried.

        Adam said, "I held the door for her and she recognized me. I told her that Mom was here, and you know the rest." Except I don't know the rest. I don't know why they left that nasty house, I don't know what course their lives took and I don't know if she ever married or has kids or what. I hope she comes back to talk with Marsha. But, apparently, we made a positive impact on her life, an impact she has shared with others.

        Never, ever waste an opportunity to make that good impression and avoid making the bad impression. Someone's soul might hang in the balance.