Wednesday of this week I got an email from one of our church families that their beloved mother was in a local hospital. Since my schedule over the next couple of days would be really tight, and since my wife and I lead out in prayer meeting as a team, I played guitar for the opening music, and then excused myself, got in the car, and headed toward the hospital.

It was raining—not a monsoon, but enough to force meto keep my windshield wipers on. I passed the retirement center where our gospel sing-along will happen this coming Sabbath afternoon, and a half mile further I saw ambulance lights in my rearview mirror. I pulled over to the next lane, and the big red ambulance moved past me.

And then, through the rain, and through the small windows in the two rear ambulance doors, I saw a face. It was an elderly face, crowned with white hair. It was rolling slightly from side to side at the motion of the van. And I think this person was conscious—and maybe this hadn’t been her (I believe it was a she) first ride in an aid car.

The ambulance signaled that it wanted into my lane, so I backed off. And at an intersection, it turned right, heading toward the same hospital where I was going. And then it turned sharply left into the emergency department parking lot, and I never saw it again.

I made the hospital visit—my church member patient was doing better—but I can’t forget the face in the aid car. That person no doubt came through the crisis fine, too, and may already be back home—or the retirement center, who knows? But life is uncertain.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus!