Stuck in an Elevator

Stuck in an Elevator

I never dreamed I would be stuck on an elevator, but there I was, sitting on the floor, my only companion the darkness surrounding me.

Just a few minutes before the nurses helping my wife in post-op had sent me to get my car and park it at the back entrance of the surgical clinic so that they wouldn’t have to wheel Lori across a parking lot. The only problem was that I didn’t wait for their directions. I dashed off like a knight in shining armor rescuing his sleeping damsel from a burning castle. Bolting through the first door, I paid no attention to the fact that the waiting room I jogged through was empty--- no patients, no nurses, no receptionists, not even a light remained on at 5:30 p.m., but that didn’t matter to a man on a mission; that door and the second leading to the stairwell hardly broke my stride to the final glass door, the exit. It clanged shut, stopping me cold in my purpose-driven tracks. Not to be deterred, I quickly decided to retrace my steps back to post-op and obediently listen for further instructions. That wasn’t an option. The doors would open only from the side I came through, not the entry side. I was trapped on the far side of the surgical clinic. And my wife was waiting, half conscious, in post-op on the other side.

Some people have aversions to elevators. For me that elevator on the first floor of the clinic posed no threat; it looked like an opportunity, an escape route from the locked doors. So I stepped in. The elevator doors shut. Then, the power shut down, and I found myself in total darkness. I was stuck on an elevator.

People who have studied these situations have found that the sense of panic usually subsides after about 30-60 minutes. I was on the verge of hyperventilating, just thinking that I might be there that long or even longer. How would anyone know where I was? What would my wife do? I could almost hear the nurses’ conversation later that night, before going home: “Hey, whatever happened to that guy who went for his car? He just vanished. Too bad we had to call social services to get his poor, abandoned wife.”

I’m reminded now, as I reflect on how helplessly I sat on that elevator floor, of how we romp and stomp through life, dashing through doors that lock shut behind us, running the red lights, barreling down the road to success like a fast train through a ghost town at midnight, virtually unaware of the hollowness that haunts us as we hurry down the track, deafened by the roar of our own steam, racing by moments we can never retrieve--- moments that are the life of life: the kids running into the bedroom with morning kisses, the baseball accidentally crashing through the picture window, the ballet recital, the romantic candlelight dinner, the quiet moments by the fireplace---and quite suddenly the doors shut, like the lid on a casket, as we sit motionless in our own elevator, pink slip in our hand, entombed in mediocrity, plateaued in an aimless career, temporarily laid off, or unavoidably reassigned. Or perhaps it’s a trapped relationship with one who doesn’t care enough to shrug his shoulders, stay, or leave. And we can’t help but ask, “Was it my fault? Was this necessary? Was it just fate?” We wait, and hope for the foreman, or plant manager, or Someone (Where did He go?) to bring us better news.

He may not arrive on our time, but He is there on time, always. Faith ultimately overcomes fear; determination overpowers doubt when faith and hope rest in the right Someone.

And then my elevator quite suddenly moved. The doors opened. Light streamed in. I laughed. An angel-nurse laughed back. “It’s a good thing I came this way, pushed the elevator button, by chance.”

By chance? Not on your life. I knew better.


Dr. David B.Whitlock’s Life Matters is published weekly. You can visit David at his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com or email him at doctordavid@windstream.net

"Life Matters"

Life matters. I chose "Life Matters" for the name of my blog because life matters. It really does. I will write about a lot of things that happen to us in this life we live. And beneath it all I will remember that our Lord cares about our life and what happens to us. In fact he said, “I am come that you might have life and have it more abundantly” (John 10:10) He cares about the details, the small things as well as the big. And he wants to be not just a part but the center of our life. When we live our lives with him where he wants to be---in the center--- our life really gets exciting. We experience the abundance of life.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. I am going to make an extra effort for the next forty days to live with a God- awareness in my life. In order to do that, I am going to focus on those three important areas of life: mind, heart, and body, and give myself more completely to God in each area. For my mind, I’ve already chosen a book about Jesus and the cross that I will read; for my heart, I’m going to pray a little more than I normally do, and for my body, I’m going to fast at least once a week. Whenever I fast, I plan to give to the needy what money I would have spent on food. These are small things, but they are part of life, and as I said, life matters.

Have you thought about how you might get closer to God during the season of Lent? Maybe you could join me in taking a look at how you are living your life in those three areas I mentioned. Perhaps you already have and could give me some suggestions about how to live closer to God.

I won’t do it perfectly during these forty days. I will get tripped up in at least one of those areas. That will probably happen to you too if you take this journey. Years ago I was on The Zone Diet. The author of book, Dr. Barry Sears, encouraged his readers that if they got out of The Zone for a meal, they could quickly get back in it the next meal. It’s important not to let a slip up take you permanently out of the Zone. It will be the same for us who focus on God more during Lent. If we get distracted for a day, we can get back in our spiritual zone the next day. We mustn’t give up.

My next blog entry will be about something that happened to me when I bought a Valentine card for my wife. It reminded me once again that the little events of life matter. Life does matter.

Looking for a Valentine’s Smile

My wife wouldn’t smile Valentine’s Day.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to smile. She had a surgical procedure to remove a basil cell skin cancer just above her upper lip. The procedure was outpatient, not lengthy, and considered low in risk. The first stage was the removal of the cancer itself by physician number one; the second step was reconstructive surgery by surgeon number two. All went well, but as warned, a painful recovery time was part of the anticipated routine. Saturday and Sunday after Friday’s surgery would be particularly uncomfortable. Eating was difficult, talking hurt, smiling out of the question. A romantic Valentine’s Day would wait for another year.

Partly to ease the absence of our Valentine’s weekend, I was determined at least to get her a card. Quickly shuffling through the Valentine section of cards while waiting for her prescriptions to be filled, I almost instantly chanced upon the one I wanted. It spoke to the occasion: “My Wife: All the beauty in the world is in your smile.”

I hurried to the cashier, anxious to get back to the surgical clinic before Lori was out of surgery. I waited in line, behind only one person, a young lady who placed an arsenal of cosmetics on the counter. The cashier was an older woman, who seemed unperturbed, even philosophical, in responding to the young lady’s questions about the kind of make-up she was purchasing. “You young people seem so intent on looking just right,” she commented to the youthful buyer, “and you just don’t know how beautiful you really are.” The cashier seemed like the kind of person who paid attention to people, so I paid attention to her.

Then it was my turn. I handed her the card. She rang it up. “That will be $7.43,”she said.

“$7.43. Dang! That’s expensive,” I muttered to myself. “Ma’am, I didn’t realize that card was that much. Could you do a return, and let me get another?”

“Sure, I can do that,” our sage cashier responded, “but first let me ask you a question.” I sensed the prophetess was about to ask me something the answer of which might perhaps reveal the future, or disclose something about myself or life that I was unaware of. “Does the card say what you want it to say to your Valentine?” she asked.

“Well, yes,” I hesitatingly responded, “as a matter of fact, it does. She is having surgery at this moment, and won’t be able to smile for a while, and this card has a line about a smile, and I thought it might be some little thing that would make her feel better, and it is Valentine’s Day Sunday, you know,” I blurted out, telling her more than I had intended.

“Then,” she said, “If it says what you want it to say, it will speak to her heart, and she will smile, she will smile.”

And so the purchase was made.

On Valentine’s Day, I gave Lori the card. “My Wife: All the beauty of the world is in your smile.”

She tried to smile, but couldn’t.

Most smiles are obvious; they are written on the face. Some smiles are hidden. To see them you have to look deeper, into the heart.

I looked for the smile deep within and said, “No need to smile.”

No need, indeed.