The hospital waiting room smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee as Dr. Lisa Conrad slumped into a chair, her white coat still splattered with Mr. Jonah’s blood. Thirty-seven hours into her shift, the words of the chief registrar echoed in her pounding head:

“You’re the most brilliant diagnostician we have, Lisa. But no one wants a genius who treats patients like lab specimens.”

Her pager buzzed, another code blue. Lisa closed her eyes, massaging the ache in her chest. She could recite every drug dosage, every surgical procedure, but the memory of Mr. Jonah’s daughter sobbing “He was scared, why didn’t you just hold his hand?” lodged in her throat like a bone.

The chapel door across the hall stood slightly ajar. Inside, a well-worn Bible lay open on the podium. A verse caught her eye:

“Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility…” (Colossians 3:12)

Lisa snorted. Tell that to the malpractice attorneys.

“Code team to ICU! Code team to”

Lisa sprinted down the hall, nearly colliding with Nurse Christine, who was wheeling a crash cart with one hand and eating a banana with the other.

“Slow down, Doogie Howser,” the sixty-year-old nurse chided. “Dead doctors save no lives.”

The patient was Mrs. Rosaline, their long-term leukemia case. Lisa barked orders as the team worked, but when she reached for the defibrillator paddles, Nurse Christine stayed her hand.

“Look at her wrists.”

Lisa froze. Faded numbers from Auschwitz.

“Her heart’s not the only thing that needs tending,” the nurse murmured, pressing a stethoscope into Lisa’s palm. “Listen beyond the beats.”

As Lisa placed the cold metal against Mrs. Rosaline’s chest, she heard it, the faint whisper of a Yiddish lullaby the woman hummed even in sleep.

Three months later, the hospital board stared slack-jawed at Lisa’s proposal:

• “Compassion Rounds” – Extra minutes spent holding hands, explaining procedures in plain English
• “Story Charts” – Patient histories including their passions, fears, what made them laugh
• “No White Coats” – Doctors wearing colourful scrubs chosen by pediatric patients

“Preposterous!” argued the chief of surgery. “We’ll lose efficiency!”

Lisa opened her tablet to show Mrs. Rosaline’s latest scans the inexplicably shrinking tumors. “Her granddaughter comes daily with photos and prune hamantaschen. Turns out hope is chemo’s best friend.”

When the board still hesitated, Nurse Christine stood, adjusting her neon pink stethoscope. “Y’all keep preaching ‘first, do no harm.’ Maybe start with the harm of ignoring souls while treating bodies.”

On Lisa’s first day as Chief of Patient-Centered Care, she found an unexpected gift in her office, a framed sampler with Colossians 3:12 stitched in rainbow thread. Beneath it, Nurse Christine’s scrawl:

“Even geniuses need reminders. P.S. Your new ‘white coat’ is on the chair.”

Lisa unfolded the garment, a tailored lab coat embroidered with cartoon hearts, dinosaurs, and the words “Ask Me About Your Feelings!” in glittery thread.

Down the hall, Mrs. Rosaline’s laughter carried through the open door as she taught interns to bake challah between chemo sessions.

Technical excellence saves lives, but compassionate connection heals souls.

Heavenly Father, I lift up the reader to you today. Go before them today and remain beside them. Centre their thoughts, steady their heart and order their steps.

Give them patience where they are rushed, Grace where they are tested and wisdom beyond their own understanding.

Help them see people as You see them, Serve with compassion, Speak with kindness and act with integrity.

May their work be an offering, their hands instruments of Your care
and their presence a reflection of Your peace.

I place their day in Your hands. Be glorified in all they do. In Jesus Name, Amen.