It’s interesting to sit in a hotel lobby or a waiting room with hurting strangers. Some sit in silence, avoiding eye contact by concentrating on their phones; others have the social grace to acknowledge your presence by a brief nod or the utterance of a soft “hello” before averting their eyes. The truth be told, under the surface, all these hurting people have a story to share; they just need your permission to share it. As my wife and I recently observed, people want your permission to talk—they just don’t know if you want to listen—until you “break the ice.” But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me share the backstory.
We recently spent a week in Rochester, Minnesota, so that Shelley could be seen at the world-famous Mayo Clinic. As we pulled into our hotel garage that Sunday evening, I noticed license plates from at least 18 surrounding states. The hotel caters to Mayo patients, so I assumed many had traveled there for medical attention.
The next morning, I went down to the breakfast room and the atmosphere was heavy with sorrow. Surveying the area, I noticed seven people at one table dressed in matching T-shirts with a slogan that read, “In this family, nobody fights alone.” They sat quietly, with downcast eyes. It was so touching. I couldn’t help but approach them to find out more. Politely asking about their T-shirts, the senior in the group responded to me.
“We’re here to support my daughter. She has leukemia. There will be 18 of us here—the others will arrive soon.”
“Do you believe in prayer?” I asked boldly, and they responded in unison, “Yes!” So I prayed. They cried. Total strangers at other tables who resonated with their sorrow bowed their heads in agreement. I sensed others were casting their burdens for a loved one upon the Lord at the same time.
Over the next six days, the breakfast room became a mission field, and prayer served as the icebreaker to allow people’s stories to come to the surface. Suddenly, strangers that had been muted by grief were sharing their heartaches and hopes like we were all one big family. The hotel served soup in the evenings, and we would meet again and inquire about the progress of our new family, who were all seeking answers to complicated medical issues. People needed hope and no one refused prayer. As the conversation would turn to the Lord, Shelley asked if they would like to receive a copy of her new book, Spotless, when it arrived in a few weeks, and all were excited to be added to the mailing list.
Our opportunities to minister went far beyond our hotel. As we went from department to department at the clinic, the waiting areas were filled with people whose stories overflowed once we broke the ice by simply asking why they were at Mayo. We would walk into a quiet area, and before long, people would be pouring out their hearts to us. At one area, two sisters had accompanied their brother for medical treatment. They were sitting in silence till we broke the ice with a few questions. Then over the next 45 minutes, we heard what led up to their visit, knew their vocations, and were learning personal details about their lives. Neither Shelley nor I could tell if they believed in the Lord, so she asked if they were readers and would enjoy a copy of her new book. The conversation shifted quickly to the topic of righteousness by faith, and they were all excited to be added to the mailing list. When I offered to pray with the brother, all three family members were eager to be ushered into His presence.
From patients to staff, Shelley and I broke the ice by asking questions. We met some fascinating people and heard incredible stories. One elderly man had been in the Auschwitz Nazi concentration camp as a child, and had the tattooed number on his arm to prove it. One lovely lady was there for psychiatric help. Within the space of a year, her brother had been murdered, her mother died, and a beloved aunt and uncle had gone to their graves. On the surface she seemed to bubble over with confidence, but what laid below was intense emotional pain. As a cancer survivor, she had thought she was tough enough to handle any issue, but an overdose of sorrow and loss had left her vulnerable to illness and pain.
As humans, our stories connect us. It is amazing how people want to be heard—want to be connected. Time after time, we were able to minister to hurting people—total strangers—as we stepped out and broke the ice with a personal question, then listened intently as they shared their hearts. We met so many who we wouldn’t expect would know the Lord but actually did, on some level. Perhaps the desperation of their fiery trials was what drove them to believe, but they all wanted to know more about Him.
You might think that our environment at Mayo made it easier to step out in faith and speak about the Lord. Actually, I would agree. But there are hurting people everywhere. There are people God puts in your pathway on a daily basis who need to connect and be heard. We’ve just got to be bold enough to break the ice, listen to their stories, and offer them the hope that only God can give.
As Christians, we should be ready in season and out of season (i.e. “at any time”) to share the hope that we have. “But in your hearts set Christ apart as holy [and acknowledge Him] as Lord. Always be ready to give a logical defense to anyone who asks you to account for the hope that is in you, but do it courteously and respectfully,” 1 Peter 3:15 (AMPC).
People want to be heard. Are you willing to listen? Breaking the ice is easier than you think. Breaking the ice can open the way to bring them closer to Christ.
