Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross was doing research for her groundbreaking book, On Death and Dying, interviewing patients in a hospital who were nearing the end of their lives. She went from room to room, listening, taking notes.

And after a while, she noticed something she hadn't expected.

Some of the dying patients were remarkably calm. At peace. Settled in a way that surprised her. And when she looked for what these patients had in common, she kept finding the same thing. Their rooms had been cleaned by the same hospital orderly.

Kübler-Ross tracked her down in the corridor one day.

What are you doing with my patients?

The orderly thought she was in trouble. I'm not doing anything with your patients.

No — it's a good thing, Kübler-Ross said. After you visit them, they seem at peace. What are you doing?

The orderly was quiet for a moment. Then she said:

I just talk to them. I've had two babies of my own die on my lap. But God never abandoned me. I tell them that. I tell them they aren't alone. That God is with them. That they don't have to be afraid.

She wasn't a doctor. She wasn't a chaplain. She had no credentials for this work — except the one that mattered most. She had been through the darkness herself. And she had found something there that she could not keep to herself.

There is a kind of comfort that can only be offered by someone who has known the thing they are speaking about. Not advice. Not answers. Just — I have been in that place. And I was not abandoned there. And neither will you be.

The Apostle Paul wrote that God comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort others with the same comfort we ourselves have received. That's not a theory. That's what the orderly was doing, room by room, on her hands and knees, in a hospital corridor.

Ministry doesn't always look the way we expect it to.

Think about what you have come through. The losses, the fears, the seasons when you weren't sure you were going to make it. You may not think of those experiences as gifts. But somewhere, there is a person sitting in a room who needs to hear exactly what you learned in your own darkness.

You are not alone. God has not abandoned you. You don't have to be afraid.

Who in your life needs to hear that today?

Prayer: Gracious God, we are grateful for the people who have spoken hope into our darkest moments. We remember today that our own wounds can become a source of comfort for others — that out of the ashes of our hardest seasons, something redemptive can grow. Give us the courage to show up for the people around us who are struggling. And remind us, when we feel we have nothing to offer, that sometimes all it takes is the willingness to say: I have been there too. And God was faithful. In Jesus' name. Amen.

‍