Hospitals can be intimidating places—especially for children. The sterile halls, constant beeping, machines with strange blinking lights, and people in scrubs hurrying from room to room… it’s a lot to take in. But sometimes, when done with care, bringing a child into those spaces can offer a kind of healing adults alone can’t give.
My dad—Lucy’s beloved Bompa—is in the hospital right now with severe back issues. Before we went to visit, I gently prepared Lucy. I explained that there would be machines, wires, and lots of nurses and doctors coming and going. I wanted her to know what to expect so her heart wouldn’t be caught off guard. And when we arrived, she was quiet at first—tucked herself slightly behind me, hand in mine, taking it all in.
I didn’t push her. I simply behaved the way I normally would: approached my dad with a hug and warm words, while still holding her hand. Within a minute, something shifted. She realized she was safe—and so was he. Her confidence and comfort returned in full bloom.
What amazed me was that she didn’t treat her Bompa like a fragile piece of glass. She was gentle, yes—but not pitiful. She still saw him. And in doing so, I truly believe she helped him see himself more clearly, too.
At one point, when he began to doze off, I whispered that we should all keep our voices down. Lucy leaned in, tilted her head toward him, and said in her confident, spunky voice,
“Hey Mr. Bompa! You sleepin’ or what?”
His eyes opened wide in surprise, then softened into a huge smile.
“Not me!” he replied.
“See,” she grinned, “he’s still awake,” and carried on chatting like they were sitting at the kitchen table instead of a hospital bed.
As adults, we try to be delicate, respectful, cautious. And rightly so. But sometimes, in our care, we tiptoe into pity. Lucy brought life into that hospital room—not because she ignored the reality, but because she didn’t let it define the moment. She reminded all of us that joy still has a place—even here.
That said, discernment is key. We didn’t bring her after his surgery when he was groggy and loopy from anesthesia. That wouldn’t have been appropriate or helpful. Nor would I bring her into a room where someone was contagious, disfigured from trauma, or emotionally unstable. Every situation is different, and we as parents have to use wisdom to protect our kids’ hearts and minds.
But sometimes, when the situation allows—it’s good for kids to be there.
It builds empathy.
It fosters courage.
It invites hope.
Lucy wasn’t just a visitor in that hospital room. She was a burst of light. And I watched my dad soak up that light like sunshine on worn skin. It gave him strength. It gave me strength. And it reminded me that sometimes, God uses the smallest hearts to do the biggest healing.
Raising Light 