By S. Maisie Ng
In fast-paced medical spaces where efficiency can easily overshadow empathy, the power of human kindness can feel like a sacred interruption. During a recent medical visit, I witnessed one of these radiant moments, a reminder that every encounter offers a choice: to heal or to harm.
The phlebotomist who cared for me that day wasn’t just completing a task. She was tending to souls. Despite juggling many patients, she carried herself with patience, calm, and heartfelt grace. Her service flowed not from obligation but from love. Watching her work quietly echoed the spirit of Colossians 3:23: “Whatever you do, do from the heart, as for the Lord and not for others.”
I have always had small veins, and blood work is something I dread. Too many needle pokes, too many attempts made me uncomfortable. Over time, fear grew with each new experience. I often show up to appointments already anxious, expecting more of the same. But something shifted during this visit. She noticed my discomfort after I drank too much water before the blood test, and, without hesitation, she rearranged the sequence to offer relief. When it came time for the blood draw, she found the vein on the first try, and I did not feel a thing. That simple, thoughtful act held more healing than she probably realized. In that moment, I thought of Galatians 6:2: “Bear one another’s burdens, and so you will fulfill the law of Christ.”
Even during a hectic shift, she made space for lightness. When I joked about my short last name, she responded with unforced laughter, a shared moment of joy that lingered long after. In a world where people so often rush past each other, her warmth reminded me of Proverbs 17:22: “A joyful heart is the health of the body, but a depressed spirit dries up the bones.” Such moments mend more than moods. They can stitch together what fear has unraveled.
What moved me most was that she carried all this alone. No backup. No fuss. Her compassion never wavered. In an overburdened system, she chose not to mirror its harshness but to be a refuge within it. I thought of Isaiah 40:31: “They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar on eagles’ wings; They will run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint.” There was something divine in her endurance, as if healing was not just something she did, but something she had become.
The experience reminded me that every action, every word, every glance, every pause, has weight. “Heal” and “harm” may be spelled with the same number of letters, but they lead us down very different paths. We choose which one we will carry into the world.
Whether in a clinic, a kitchen, or a conversation, true service is never just a task. It is a sacred opportunity to reflect God’s mercy and grace if we allow it. Holiness does not always come with trumpets. Sometimes it hums quietly through the hands that comfort, the voices that soothe, the hearts that see.
May we choose to heal. And may those who serve with such quiet power be strengthened and restored by the same care they give so freely.
