Beautifully Broken

House, I could see security details placed at every entrance of every building, stairwell, elevator, bathroom, and back door on post. I had to be in Josh’s room by 10:00 a.m. to prepare for the president to arrive at 2:00 p.m. The security detail began clearing the amputee ward of anyone who had not completed the clearance paperwork two days before. Once all the visitors, patients, and personnel were accounted for, bomb dogs did a sweep of the floor. Being the Southern woman that I am, I had the urge to tidy up or cook or something to make our guest feel like we prepared for him. But none of that would be happening in this tiny room. There was nothing I could do to make the room look more appealing. Despite our efforts to make the place feel like home, it was still a hospital room. IV poles, particleboard rolling tables, and pleather chairs surrounded Josh’s bed. When Josh’s dad, stepmother, and siblings came, our seating arrangement was the twins, Kelsi and Keeli, in the chair together; Patrick in Josh’s wheelchair; Kristie in the extra chair; me on the end of the bed; and Josh’s little brother, Mason, sitting in the floor of the corner closet with the door open. I hoped the president wouldn’t want to sit down. We would have to move people and furniture around like a game of Tetris just to get him to a surface he could sit on. I hated how claustrophobic the room always felt even without a ton of visitors. Josh was always wanting to add things to the walls, but that just made them feel like they were closing in. The small flat-screen TV and the random cork board that never had anything on it was enough for the white cinder blocks. I also wondered if the president would be bothered by the smell. No matter what I did, I couldn’t freshen the air in our room. The aseptic smell of foam hand sanitizer and hospital linens made our room smell like pill bottle cotton balls. I wondered if it clung to my own clothing like cigarette smoke.

Hours passed while we sat in Josh’s room and watched TV, occasionally poking our heads out the door hoping to conjure up a sign that our guest was near. Finally, we saw a fleet of black SUVs driving up to the hospital. I don’t know if it was part of the protocol to shut everyone’s door once the president was in the building, but Patrick’s fifth warning to get back in our room was probably a sign the president was on the way. Finally, there was a knock on the door. The liaison entered and informed us the president was in the next room. Then she asked us a rather interesting question—she said the president would like to know if there was anything we needed to discuss with him like issues or concerns. That had not crossed our minds; we were just excited to meet the president of the United States! “All right,” she said, “if there’s nothing you would like me to relay, then I will be back with the president.”

We heard another knock, and President Barack Obama entered. I realized I had not thought about how I would greet him, but I immediately decided on a hug when I saw him. He smiled and gave everyone else a hug, too. Looking around, he made note of Josh’s Auburn gear. Just the response Josh had hoped for. The president asked Josh where and when he was injured and asked about our level of care at Walter Reed. He asked if there was anything he could do for us, and we just shrugged our shoulders and thanked him for his time. He thanked Josh for his service and sacrifice.

As he began to exit, I anxiously and somewhat impulsively stopped him and said, “Mr. President, would you mind if we prayed for you?”

Pausing, he turned back toward me with a smile I will never forget and said, “I would love that.” We gathered around Josh’s bed and joined hands. With Josh on my left and President Obama on my right, I prayed, “Dear God, we thank you for letting us live in a country where the commander-in-chief and the infantry soldier can join hands in prayer in the same room. We see amputees rolling into this hospital by the truckload every week, so we pray that You would have Your guiding hand over President Obama. He is human just like the rest of us, and he needs wisdom and knowledge over our situation in Afghanistan because we know the position he sits in is not an easy one. Please guide his decisions and surround him with people with wisdom. Thank you for this once-in-a-lifetime moment. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

I received a pretty long and sincere hug followed by a smile and a thank-you from the president. He gripped my shoulders, looked me in the eye, and told me I was a special woman. He hugged and thanked the rest of people in the room for the time we spent with him. He gave a final goodbye and went on to see the next patient. The man leading our country was going to continue walking down the hall, patient after patient, meeting them where they were, where no one wants to be—in a hospital built for soldiers to recover from fighting a war.

For the rest of the day, I kept thinking about the moment I had just experienced. My faith had grown during this time, and the Lord had shown me some crazy things through Josh’s recovery. I had interceded countless times on Josh’s behalf since we had been there. That meeting with the president felt like I was finally coming off the bench in my own life. Just meeting the president would have been awesome enough by itself, but exchanging pleasantries and engaging in small talk provided no opportunity for real connection. I took