She wasn't there the first time I opened my eyes from a light anesthesia-induced sleep. I turned on my side and when I sleepily opened my eyes again, though, she was. It was late February and I was lying on a hospital gurney in the recovery area of the operating room, after from a short, out-patient surgical procedure. She was lying on a hospital gurney next to me.

With tears rolling from her eyes down her cheeks she said, "I had a miscarriage and the doctor had to do a D and C." She was a young Nepali. I answered, "I can understand your sadness. I had one, too, in 1979 here in Nepal at Shanta Bhawan Hospital."

Surprised that I spoke Nepali, she continued talking with me. I eventually told her that it is OK to be sad about the miscarriage. When I had been grieving about my own miscarriage 28 years ago, God sent a clinical psychologist my way who had come to Nepal for only a few weeks. He shared with me that it was not uncommon for a woman to grieve over a miscarriage for a year. Those words were so helpful to me then. Now, I was having an opportunity to share his words with her. My eyes unwittingly dropped shut again. When I opened them again a few moments later, a nurse had just come to take her to her room. As she was being wheeled away, I told her that I would pray for her. She smiled and said she was a Christian, too, and that she would pray for me.

Less than two weeks later, I was admitted to the hospital to have my gall bladder removed because of gall stones. Admission at this hospital is different than in the US. I was admitted on a Friday for surgery that would take place on Sunday. After going through the admission process and checking into my room, I was allowed to leave the hospital, go home and have some supper there. I only had to return to the hospital by 6 pm.

When I did return to my semi-private room, the other bed was no longer empty. A young woman was now my roommate. She had just given birth to her first child by an emergency cesarean section. Her new-born son, husband and mother-in-law were all there with her. She was very sad about having to have surgery. I told her that my son, too, our first-born, was also delivered by cesarean section and that I understood her sadness. Because of our common experience, we shared a special rapport as we roomed together the next three days together.

Reflecting on how God used my experiences of pain to bring hope to someone else reminded me of a Lenten reading I recently read. "The Holy Spirit of God is given to us so that we can become participants in God's compassion and so reach out to all people at all times with God's heart," wrote Henri Nouwen. (I came across it in "Renewed for Life, Daily Lenten Reflections from the works of Henri J.M. Nouwen".) The Apostle Paul says it this way: "Praise be to… the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we may comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God," (II Cor. 1: 3-4,NIV).

In between the tragedy of Friday and the triumph of Sunday, there is Saturday, the day of waiting. Indeed, that first Easter Saturday was a day of deep despair, however mistaken. As we celebrate Easter this week, may Saturday, the day of silence and waiting, be especially meaningful to you as we are now able to anticipate the joyous celebration of Easter.

The promise of Easter, of the empty grave and the clothes that were left behind, is that God can turn our tragedy and into triumph, as Max Lucado puts it in "He Chose the Nails." The Bible says, "in all things God works for the good of those who love him." "In all things" is whatever hardship we are facing.

When we find ourselves on Saturday between the tragedy of Friday and the triumph of Sunday waiting for God to act, may we also find ourselves trusting in the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort to comfort us.

Thank you for your prayers for us, as we live out our Christian faith here in Nepal.

Carole Sydnor