“Are you okay, ma’am?” the orderly asked, a question of concern quivering in the corner of her lips.
“Why, I think so. But tell me again, why am I here?” Mary sunk her head in the wheelchair as she was pushed down the sterile hall of Mercy Hospital in Lorain, Ohio.
Mary, I told you Jesus was coming for dinner. And you doubted. God is not pleased because of this.
Her husband Tom’s voice echoed in her ears, and now afraid and silent, Mary wept. She did not want to be labelled Schizophrenic.
Tune in next time for the Ongoing Adventures of Mary.
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