Salvation in the dementia Ward
Walking down the long hospital hallway, I approached the room in the emergency area where they had told me she would be found. As I came near the door, I found a security guard sitting there. He looked at me with sympathy as I identified myself and, with a warning and sad shaking of his head, gave me permission to enter. I stepped into the room, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. On the bed, I began to make out the figure of a woman lying there, the loose-fitting hospital gown twisted around her. She was curled up, yet rocking and even writhing about on the bed. Groaning, she had her back to me. But the moment I spoke, she jerked up and, turning, glared at me. ”I know who you are,” she growled at me with eyes I could now see were wild with fear and anger. “You are Mr. Holy-Holy-Holy!” The next moments stunned me. Despite past experiences of being near and ministering to people high on drugs, involved in the occult, or living in mental asylums, never had I witnessed anythin