“There are extra doses of the vaccine at the middle school. Why don’t you swing by the house, drop Maguire off, and head over there?” my husband called with the breaking news while I was driving my youngest home from school.
“What?” I had so many questions.
“Chris called and said he got in line without an appointment, and just got vaccinated. They expire if no one uses them, so they hand out the extras. There’s a form, but I just filled it out for you.”
“Wow. Okay. Thanks. I’ll be home in about ten minutes.”
I dropped off Maguire and headed to the middle school. It was a gorgeous spring day--sunnier and warmer than it should have been for March. There were a handful of people in line in front of me outside, plus however many were inside the doors, and I didn’t have to be anywhere, except eventually back home to make dinner. The hitch? This location was administering the Moderna vaccine, which there is absolutely nothing wrong with and is a wonderful option for most people. However, it is the one vaccine of the three currently available on the market in the U.S. that had caused a very small number of anaphylactic reactions to people who had previous anaphylactic conditions. I fall into that previous condition category.
If you’re not familiar with it (and I hope you don’t have to be), anaphylaxis is when your body full-on rejects a substance that you’re severely allergic to and goes into attack mode when this substance enters your body--think bee stings or peanuts. Your blood pressure crashes and your tongue or throat may swell up. Within minutes it could take your life. It’s basically terrifying.
My body probably wouldn’t shut down if I got the Moderna. It was just a possibility, a slim one, but still. As I stood in the sunshine letting the warmth soak into my skin, I thanked God for the gorgeous day, but I also asked Him what He wanted to do. Is this safe, God? If you want me to get the vaccine today, please let me get it. If for some reason it doesn’t make sense, if it might be dangerous for me, please let them not have enough. I trust You. I’m praying for Your protection.
Knowing God was in control, I was content with either outcome.
The line grew behind me. Folks checked their watches and phones. Eventually, the man in charge came out and continued a count he’d begun inside. “Four, five, six… ” He pointed to the woman in front of me. “Twelve! You’re the last dose.” Then he looked at me and the others behind me. “Sorry, folks. We’ll run out right here. Come back next week. We’ll have more.”
The person in front of me would receive the last dose. I was grateful she’d get hers. She seemed kind from our brief interaction. She’d been there first. And I was suddenly relieved with not getting mine. Because really, the person right in front of me? Interesting, God….
Fast forward to a few weeks later when I was able to schedule an appointment for the Pfizer vaccine, the one that to date hadn’t caused any allergic reactions. The place I was able to get a slot was our local hospital. Which was also interesting. Because as scary as anaphylaxis is looming over my life, if it was going to happen, a hospital seemed to be the best possible place.
The whole operation was first rate. A friendly greeter, an efficient check-in, multiple vaccine administrators. I was told to go into the chapel. The chapel? Oh yeah, hospitals typically have those, but I hadn’t considered it an option. I saw people in front of me getting their shots in this room. But the chapel was three steps away and complete with pastel stained glass.
“Hi, I’m Laura, I’ll be administering your vaccine today.”
Her name was my name, too (are you singing?).
Laura was great. She did her job, gave me a Band-Aid, and directed me to a seat to wait thirty minutes (yup, allergy girls get longer wait times just to be safe), and then packed up her things and left as her replacement took her chair. I was the last person Laura vaccinated that day.
I’d prayed for God’s protection. I’d asked Him to be in control of when and where I got the vaccine. And He answered my prayers so beautifully.
A “no,” in line for the Moderna.
An appointment for the Pfizer.
At a hospital.
In the chapel.
With a nurse named Laura.
It’s so much. And so typical of God. To be so personal, intentional, and caring.
When we pray, He answers. Jesus tells us in Luke 11:9-10 “So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened." When we ask Him relevant questions (not if we should make tacos or stromboli for dinner or which pair of shoes to wear, unless something hinges on one of those decisions) God wants us to hear His answer. He’ll open some doors and close others. God will point us in the right direction again and again to show us the correct path. He’ll protect us and give us the reassurance we personally need. And then He’ll throw in something super special to show off. Like a stained glass window or a nurse who shares our name. This is who our God is.
Are you worried about something today? Trying to decide between this and that? Not sure what the safest or healthiest or most fulfilling path would be? Ask our Heavenly Father. Take it to Him. He loves you and cares for you abundantly. When we ask, He’ll answer. When we seek, we’ll find. And when we knock on God’s door. He always always answers.
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Laura L. Smith