Several people I care about have been shuttling to hospitals lately. Either they or their children are unwell, and their ability to cope has been depleted. For some it is a medical condition, for others a mental imbalance. Either way things are not as they should be, and everyone is exhausted. 

It is astonishing, really, that such places exist. The other night my twins and I watched an episode in West Wing where a man is transported to the emergency room with gunshot wounds. I could barely look, and held tightly to my daughters as I cried. 

And I have watched this scene before.

What amazes me, is that there are people in real life who not only resist looking away, they come running with both eyes open. Instead of recoiling at the blood soaked clothes, or reeling at the ripped flesh, they are riveted to the task at hand. They are here to bring relief. How can that be? 

Without asking so much as the patient's name, or income, strangers descend with state of the art tools, and a library of knowledge to stop the pain. 

There were times when my kids were in the hospital for a procedure, like an appendectomy, or stitches, and the nurse tugged a blue curtain around the bed to give us privacy. When Ben was hospitalized one year ago this week for escalating anxiety they drew the drapes. It helped to salvage my dignity. 

There are angels around us who are poised and ready to tend to our spiritual fractures.  Even as we are hemorrhaging with fear and shame, they wield their tiny tools of compassion. A word from a neighbor, a shaft of light over commuter traffic. The refrain of a song that stirs us to hope, or the echo of scripture whispering in our ears. 

And to preserve our dignity they hide behind a curtain of blue sky.