Each day I worked in the emergency room, I became more insensitive to people and their real needs. Five years of emergency room exposure took its toll. Then God intervened.

I was registering a young woman who had overdosed on drugs and attempted suicide. Her mother sat before me, unkempt and bleary eyed. She had been awakened in the night by the police to come to the hospital. She could only speak to me in a whisper.

“Hurry up!” I said to myself as she slowly gave me information. My impatience was raw as I finished the report and jumped to the machine to copy the medical cards. Then God stopped me, saying, “You didn’t even look at her.”

I felt his grief for the woman and her daughter then, and I bowed my head, saying, “I’m sorry, Lord. I am so sorry.”

I sat by the distraught woman and covered her hands with mine. I looked into her eyes with all the love that God could flood through me and said, “I care. Don’t give up.” She wept as she poured out her story. For years she had dealt with a rebellious daughter who was a single mom. Finally, after the weeping stopped, she thanked me for listening. Me—the coldhearted one with no feelings.

My attitude changed that night. My God, who so loved the world, broke that self-imposed barrier around my heart. Now he could reach out, not only to me, but to a lost and hurting woman.