The Front Desk

Chapter 29: The Front Desk

I walked into the hospital wearing the exact same clothes I wore that morning. But I was not the same man.I had just been terminated. My job was gone.They kept the keys, the computer, and the charger. I walked out with nothing but the truth—and the story God had given me to live.And yet, I wasn’t walking in shame. I wasn’t hiding. I walked into that hospital completely open. At one with Spirit. And right on the edge of my lips was the question I couldn’t escape:“What does this have to do with the agenda of my soul?”Behind the front desk sat three women. They didn’t know who I was. But somehow, I felt like they knew who I was.The woman in the middle—closest to me—had short, silver hair and eyes that pierced right through me. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She saw beyond the words I was speaking. Her presence wasn’t just calm—it was wise, like she had lived a thousand lifetimes and knew exactly what this moment was.She was inside the light that was pouring out of me. I don’t know how else to say it. To her right sat a Hispanic woman who radiated warmth and joy. She reminded me of the kind of woman who loved through cooking, moved with music, and made you feel like family the moment you were near her. Her spirit was familiar—like my dad’s culture. She wasn’t trying to fix anything. She was just present, soaking it in, enjoying the beauty of the moment. To the left of the wise woman sat another—an older white woman whose posture was stiff, her questions sharp. “Can I help you? Are you here to see someone?” she asked more than once. She didn’t seem to trust what she was seeing. Suspicion was written in her tone, like she couldn’t decide if I was lost, strange, or something else altogether.I told them I was there to see my mother-in-law. She had just undergone surgery after an injury at the rehabilitation center.And then I found myself telling them more. I told them about being let go. I said I had done nothing wrong. I told them I had spent my life pouring into children, walking in light, praying over families, carrying compasses and hourglasses as tools for the soul.I wasn’t there to force anything. I was there because God wanted to speak through my brokenness. As I spoke, I didn’t try to defend myself. I didn’t even know what words were coming out until they were already out. I was light. That’s all. I was being used, and I let myself be used.This wasn’t about a hospital. It was about a divine appointment. It hit me then: some people don’t need to know your name to recognize your spirit.I wasn’t trying to win them over. I wasn’t preaching. I was just… telling the truth. And when truth comes through peace, not force, it gets in through cracks people didn’t know they had.When I finally stopped speaking, the room felt full. Like something sacred had just happened and we were all witnesses—even if we couldn’t explain it.I thanked them. I turned. And instead of leaving the hospital, I walked to the elevators—headed up to be with my family.But I wasn’t walking empty.I was walking lit.