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Sometimes a story opens in a setting we’ve walked through a hundred times, but this time something quiet tugs at the edges of our attention. We all know the feeling; those long, impersonal hallways in places we’d rather avoid, when we’d much prefer fresh air, open fields, or the rustle of squirrels in the trees. Yet every so often, life leads us into unexpected spaces for reasons we don’t immediately see.

That’s where we meet Raphael Cross in this week’s story. Nothing around him is quite what it seems. The air hums with unspoken questions, and every detail hints at something deeper, something waiting patiently to be noticed. If you enjoy stories that blend the ordinary with the mysterious, the physical with the spiritual, this one may speak to you. I hope it lingers with you in the best way, and I can’t wait for you to read it.

The Ward of Wonders

By J.K. Stenger

____

Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?
Jeremiah 8:22

Lawyer Raphael Cross knew exactly where he was, the moment his eyes swept the hallway. The air carried the distinct scent of lives long forgotten, of stories that clung invisibly to walls scrubbed to an immaculate shine. Over it all lingered the sharp tang of bleach and disinfectant, creating the illusion of safety and cleanliness, yet unable to wash away the sorrow, fear and quiet desperation that anyone feels upon entering…

A hospital.

He was in a hospital.

But why? He wasn’t sick. At least not as far as he knew.

Just as he was about to turn away, eager to leave as quickly as possible, a nurse appeared as if out of nowhere. Her voice was soft and gentle as she spoke.

“Raphael Cross?” 

A lovely nurse she was, with warm, shining eyes. Her hair was neatly tucked beneath her cap, the mark of a true professional intent on keeping every germ at bay. She wore a crisp white apron, spotless and starched, with a name tag pinned just below her left shoulder that read Cherubina Care. The thought crossed his mind that he wouldn’t mind asking her out for coffee at his favorite spot in the mall.

“That’s me,” he said. “Where am I?”

“I’m Miss Care,” Cherubina replied, “and I’m supposed to show you around our hospital.”

Raphael opened his mouth to ask why, but before he could say a word, Miss Care turned and walked away, motioning for him to follow. 

She stopped in front of a ward and pointed to the nameplates beside the door.

“These are the folks in here,” she said. “They’re in pretty bad shape.”

“They are?” Raphael squinted, trying to read the names. He didn’t have his glasses with him, but he could just make out the words. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a chill ran through him.

‘Eustace Grumble’

‘Cecil Snort’ 

But… those were his next-door neighbors, one on each side. He hadn’t known they were ill. He’d spoken with Eustace just yesterday while trimming the hedge. And Cecil, … well, Cecil was never sick. Always in perfect health. Always jogging.

He hesitated, then leaned his head into the stuffy room and recognized them instantly. Eustace Grumble, with his droopy face and wild, unruly hair, and Cecil Snort. His little beard framed his familiar grin and he wore his favorite baseball T-shirt. Both men had their eyes closed.

“Are… are they alright?” he whispered, barely daring to break the silence.

She pressed her pretty lips together and shrugged. “As much as is possible.”

“What does that mean?” Raphael asked. “Will they be home again soon?”

“We hope so,” Miss Care replied, her tone unreadable. “They’re very sick.”

“I didn’t know they were sick,” Raphael said. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Leprosy,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“What?” Raphael burst out. “That’s impossible. I saw them just recently and…” He stopped abruptly, remembering how contagious leprosy could be. He had even touched Eustace briefly when the unfortunate man handed him a mug of coffee. “Will… will I be all right? I mean… erm… leprosy is a pretty nasty disease.” 

“It is,” Miss Care affirmed. “This is not physical leprosy though, but spiritual.”

“Excuse me?” Raphael asked, confused. 

Miss Care didn’t answer. Instead, she motioned for him to follow. “There are other wards I want to show you,” she said. Without waiting for his reply, she brushed past him and made her way down the corridor to the next ward. Raphael followed, feeling a wave of depression. He still had no idea how he had gotten here, and it didn’t look like he would be allowed to leave anytime soon. 

Seeing his neighbors here, bound to their beds with leprosy, made his heart skip several beats. Any thought of a coffee date with Cherubina Care was now the last thing on his mind. 

Miss Care stopped in front of another ward and pointed to the name tags on the wall. Raphael didn’t want to read them, but he couldn’t stop himself.

A fresh shock hit him as he took in the names:

‘Hilda Fuss’

‘Gertie Bluster’

Hilda was his cousin, really his favorite, especially since she knew how to cook. And Gertie… well, she was the girl from the coffee shop in the mall. Nervous girl. Sweet, but not his type. She had asked him for some legal advice, which he wasn’t about to give her. 

And they too were sick?

Miss Care was already inside the ward and gave him a wave with her arm to enter.

“D-Do I have to?” Raphael asked. What he really wanted was to get out of here.

“Don’t you care for Hilda? And doesn’t Gertie serve you your favorite coffee?” Miss Care asked softly. “I won’t force you, but I thought you might like to see them.”

Concern flashed through Raphael. How did Miss Care know he knew them? Who was she, really? But this was not the time to ask questions, so he simply nodded. There was no way out, at least, not now. He stepped inside and took in the pristine hospital ward, with its beeping machines, tubes and monitors. 

Like Eustace and Cecil, it appeared that Hilda and Gertie were sleeping. Their eyes were closed, but their pale faces and the dark circles beneath them were clear proof that they were ill as well.

“What’s wrong with them?” he whispered.

“Fever,” she replied calmly, gently adjusting the blanket on Hilda’s bed so she wouldn’t get cold.

“Only a fever?” Raphael asked. “Just give them a pill and they’ll be fine.”

She shook her head. “It’s a really bad fever. We wish it were that easy.”

Raphael wanted to step over to Hilda and encourage her, by telling her how much he enjoyed her cooking, but Miss Care shook her head. “Come, Mister Cross. There will be time later to do your part.”

He frowned, wanting her to clarify, but Miss Care had already returned to the corridor, waiting to show him the next ward.

This room was much darker. The curtains were drawn, and the only light came from a small desk lamp, casting a soft, pale glow across the room.

Raphael hadn’t read the name tags by the door and it was hard to tell who the patients were. Maybe they were just strangers.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked Miss Care, who adjusted the light just slightly, softening the glow even more.

“Blind,” she said solemnly.

“Only blind?” Raphael asked. “Then why are they in bed?” He realized the absurdity of his question as soon as it left his mouth and wanted to apologize, but Miss Care beat him to it. “Nobody is ‘only blind,’ Mister Cross. The real problem is that many people think they see, but they are in fact as blind as bats.”

“Oh,” Raphael said, hoping he sounded sincere. “Who are they? I didn’t read their names.”

“You know them, too,” Miss Care replied, pointing to the first bed, where a man lay with two large black eye-patches over his eyes.

“That’s your boss, Harold Quibble.”

Raphael shuddered and took a step back. “That can’t be,” he muttered. “I saw my boss just today. He isn’t blind at all. In fact, he sees everything, especially my mistakes. I… I…” He wanted to add that he despised the man and couldn’t care less that his boss was here in this strange place, but something told him he shouldn’t say such things to Miss Care. “And… erm… the other?”

“That’s Milton,” Miss Care said. “Milton Pout. You know him too.”

Yes, Raphael certainly did. Only a week ago, that fellow had driven into his car, knocked off the fender and insisted it wasn’t his fault. He had almost gotten into a fight, and if the police hadn’t stepped in, Milton would be in a completely different hospital by now. 

Raphael wanted to say that it served Milton right to be here, but Miss Care didn’t want to argue. She simply motioned for him to follow. “And now to the last room,” she said, her voice calm but carrying a weight that made Raphael’s stomach tighten.

Then again, if this really was the last room, maybe the ordeal would soon be over. When Miss Care stopped, Raphael wondered what he would see inside.

He peered through the glass and saw a neatly made bed. There was nobody there.

“What is this? There’s nobody in here,” he said, turning to Miss Care.

“Not yet,” she replied, pointing to the name tag on the wall. 

Raphael looked up, and as his eyes landed on the name tag, his heart skipped a beat. Nausea surged, and the world around him seemed to twist and blur. There, on the tag, was written: “Raphael Cross.”

“B-but… I’m not sick,” he mumbled, feeling queasy and weak. “I… I want out.”

Miss Care smiled a sweet, genuine smile. “Just go inside,” she said. “Wait for the physician. He’ll be here shortly.”

Without another word, she opened the door and stepped aside, making room for Raphael to enter. He knew he had to comply. There was no way out, running wouldn’t help. Forces were at work here far greater than anything he had ever encountered.

And so, he stepped inside. Nervously twiddling his fingers, he sat down on the bed while Miss Care walked off.

Waiting.

And waiting.

And worrying.

But then, suddenly, the Physician was there. How had he gotten in? The door was still closed. Yet there he stood, bathed in a soft aura of light. Raphael gasped and felt the urge to fall to his knees. This was no ordinary doctor. The man before him radiated a profound sense of rest and peace. Unfathomable love seemed to surround him.

“Hello again, Raphael,” the Physician said. “How are you?”

Tears stung Raphael’s eyes. He knew exactly who this was. There was no doubt. The Lord Himself stood before him, the Lord he had accepted years ago, but who had slipped from his mind almost as soon as he had given his heart to Him.

“I… I am sick too, am I not?” Raphael sobbed, his shoulders trembling. All of a sudden, he saw his own state and it wasn’t a picture of perfection. Apathy, lukewarmness, love of comfort, self-righteousness… the list seemed endless. Yes, he was very sick too, just like all the others, but perhaps he was the sickest of them all, for he had known the Savior and still had wandered so far.

“Have mercy on me,” he cried. “I am a terrible sinner.”

“You’ve always been on my mind,” the Physician said. “Look…” He stepped forward, and there, glowing softly on the palm of his hand, was a name written: Raphael Cross.

“I have not forsaken you,” the Physician continued. “In fact, I have great plans for you, and My plans never fail.” He paused, then spoke again in a tender voice. “Look!”

Through his tears, Raphael looked up and saw that the Physician held a small flask in his hand, filled with a scintillating liquid.

“W-What is it, my Lord?” he stammered.

“It’s the balm of Gilead,” the Physician replied. “It will heal you of your ailments. But once you are healed, I want you to go forth and sprinkle this balm on everyone around you. People, animals, situations, even on your enemies. Sprinkle it freely.”

Raphael stared at the small flask in the Physician’s hand. It was tiny. There would barely be enough for his own healing, let alone for everyone else.

“I… I-It’s so small,” he stammered. “It won’t last.”

The Physician laughed softly, a sound full of warmth and reassurance. “It will never, never, never run out. You can give it freely. Pour it out.”

A thought rose in Raphael’s mind, but he didn’t dare speak it. He need not have feared. After all, this Physician knew everything. The Savior’s words were clear. “You wonder why I can’t do it? I have already done my part for this world, Raphael. Now you must do yours.”

***

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” A gentle voice stirred Raphael. A shock coursed through him when he realized where he was. He was back in the mall, sitting at a table in his favorite coffee shop, staring into the concerned and nervous eyes of Gertie Bluster. Still, the vision lingered. The warmth, the balm, the charge, it was all with him now.

“Gertie,” he said, “I’m so glad to see you.”

“You are?” she asked. “You act a little bit strange. You’ve been sleeping for quite some time, but we are closing soon.”

“I know,” Raphael replied. “Listen,” he began hesitantly.

“What?” Gertie said.

“You needed legal advice, right? Come to my office tomorrow. No charge.” 

A quiet smile spread across his face. He had received the balm of Gilead, and now the work; spreading kindness, love and mercy, was his. For the first time in a long while, Raphael was ready.

____

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