As someone who enjoys writing and is always searching for ways to hone my skills, I often read commentaries how successful authors approach projects.  For example, in his book Danse Macabre, Stephan King taught me the difference between “word processing” and “idea processing.”  His message?  Great concepts emerge before you know the context in which they will be most effective.  So hang on to that thought and when the muse strikes, cut and paste it into place.

For the past couple of days, I have been listening to James Comey defend some of the criticism of his newly released autobiography A Higher Loyalty.   In particular, he responded to reviewers who thought his descriptions of Donald Trump’s physical characteristics seemed petty and unnecessary.  Comey’s retort?  He admitted he was not a writer and sought advice from others as he began drafting the book.  And he was struck by one mentor’s guidance that he needed to “bring the reader into the room.”  To do that, writers need to share exactly what they see and experience.

Today I want to take you into a room, the playroom in the Children’s Inn at the National Institutes of Health (NIH).  For those not familiar with this facility, it has two purposes.  First, it provides lodging for relatives of children who are being treated at the NIH clinical center.  More importantly, it is a place where children can get away from the sights and sounds of a hospital environment, a brief respite from the alien world of monitors and tubes to which they would otherwise be confined.  I became familiar with the Children’s Inn because one of our grand nieces was admitted to NIH due to a not as yet fully diagnosed condition.

After having been subjected to an afternoon of poking and prodding, this little girl was allowed to go with her mother and grandmother to the Children’s Inn.  Upon arriving at the Inn, she immediately wanted to go to the playroom.  Although the room is cluttered with every toy and activity a young person could imagine, the first thing I noticed were two other adults with their own children.  No words were exchanged, only a knowing nod of the head as if to say, “I understand.  You are worried and wish you were not here.”

As my wife and daughter were entertaining our grand niece with what can only be called “monster Legos,” two more people entered the room.  One was an African-American, perhaps 10 to 12 years old, who was using a red and white cane.  The other was a Caucasian women who led the child through the playroom to the outside door leading to the gardens and playscape.  At first I thought the child was a boy.  But a few minutes later, an African-American woman with a cell phone entered the room.  She told the person at the other end of the call, “She is outside, taking a a walk.”  It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.  The young girl’s malady and treatment had robbed her of her hair and other physical traits one would normally associate with her gender.

I watched as the mother caught up with her daughter and the other person.  I don’t know whether that third person was a nurse, therapist, doctor or specialist in some other field.  That was not important.  What was paramount in my mind was the effort this woman exerted to give the patient a meaningful experience.  In a scene straight out of The Miracle Worker, the companion took the child’s hand, touched an object with it and then signed against the inside of the girl’s open hand.

Which brings me to the title of today’s post.  It is obviously a play on the television series “Touched by an Angel,” which ran for nine years on CBS.  The premise was simple.  An angel (played by Roma Downey) reaches out to people at some crossroads in their lives.  What I observed on Monday was hardly divine intervention.  Just the opposite.  One of the reasons I remain a devout agnostic is the fact I cannot accept a supposedly compassionate deity who indiscriminately inflicts innocent children with disease, harm and death.  The children at NIH are only one example.  Where was the divine intervention in the town of Douma, Syria several days ago? Or when Jennifer and Sarah Hart chose to drive their GMC Yukon over a cliff with their six adopted children?  Or at New Town and Parkland?

Despite these many senseless tragedies, of one thing I am sure.  When I watched the mother of a seriously ill young lady look at the companion who used her skills to help a child experience a world she would not otherwise know, we were both in the presence of a “human angel.”  For all I know, the caretaker may have deep religious beliefs which give her the strength to do what she does.  And that is fine.  As Abraham Lincoln said in his second inaugural address, “The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”  I seldom question the wisdom of #16, but in this case, I put my faith in “the better humanity within our nature.”

In other words, do not confuse denial of a supreme being with lack of faith.  Last Monday, my faith in people was affirmed.  When called upon, there will always be men and women who will step forward when others are dealt a bad hand in life.  Their motivation comes from many sources.  And if there was a job description for these kind of people, the qualifications would include the phrase, “DIVINE BELIEF OPTIONAL.”

For what it’s worth.
Dr. ESP