On a recent "Take Your Child to Work" day, my son Joshua, age 12, joined me for some hospital calls. I was amazed at how much he seemed to enjoy visiting and praying with those we met.

In the third room we visited, we prayed with the patient, and then passed his roommate to exit the room. Near the door, a woman was in obvious distress. I greeted her and wondered if I should offer to pray or talk with her and her family. She didn't maintain eye contact with me, so after I said hello, we passed her and continued down the hallway.

As I pressed the button for the elevator, Josh asked, "Dad, don't you think we should have prayed with her?"

"I wondered that too," I told him. "Sometimes it's hard to know if people want your help, or if they just want to be left alone."

Josh didn't say anything else as the elevator took us to the lobby. We were about to leave the hospital when I double-checked my list and realized I had missed one person we were supposed to visit—the stepfather of one of our employees, Linda. I learned he was a roommate to the last patient we had visited.

Suddenly I realized why the distressed woman in the last room had looked familiar. She resembled Linda. I told Josh we needed to go back upstairs. When we returned to the room, the woman was still there. "You're Linda's sister, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Would you like us to pray with you and your family?"

We held hands and prayed. When Josh and I left the room again, I returned to the hall where another daughter of the family was trying to keep her emotions in check while making phone calls.

She wasn't succeeding.

I stopped to greet her and she whispered to me between phone calls: "The doctor told us to call the family and have them come quickly."

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.

She held up a finger to signal that she needed a moment and returned to her phone. "Call me back as soon as you hear this," she said into the phone. She sighed, closed her cell phone, turned to me, and asked for help in finding a phone number.

I made a couple of quick calls and got the number for her. I turned to Josh, and found he was nowhere in sight. I put my head back into the hospital room and found Josh praying with the elderly couple in the room.

More than 40 years earlier these two had exchanged sacred vows. Now a portion of those vows was becoming a painful reality—"until death do us part." And in the middle of that parting, a 12-year-old boy bowed his head and offered a prayer on their behalf.

Joshua and I rode the elevator in silence. He didn't speak until we reached the parking lot.

"Do you ever get used to that, Dad?" he asked.

"No, not really. It's always hard."

"I've never been around anyone dying before," he said.

"I know, son. You've been fortunate and have never lost someone close to you," I replied.

"Do you think our prayers helped?"

"Yes."

"But I wish I could have done something more. I don't think I helped them that much," he said with a frown.

"Did you pray for them?"

"Yes."

"Did you treat them with kindness and respect?"

"Sure."

"Did they see in your eyes that you were hurting for them and with them?"

"Yes."

"Well then, I think you helped."

When we arrived home he went straight to his mom and told his story. His brave resolve finally melted and the tears came.

Later in the day I returned to the hospital. By this time most of the family had gathered. I have watched this awkward, beautiful, sacred ritual take place so many times now. People make phone calls from hospital waiting rooms. Others hurriedly leave offices, turn off ovens, and cancel piano lessons as they rush to say one last good-bye to a loved one and comfort one another.

As I entered the room I found a faithful wife stoically standing at the border of eternity with her best friend. In a few moments he would cross the border and she would return to her family alone. When she saw me she smiled sweetly and motioned me closer.

"I think your son will follow in your footsteps."

"You know, I think you may be right."

I took her hand. "Is there anything we can do for you and your family?"

"Just pray for us."

When I returned home that night, Joshua had completed his only homework assignment for the day. He showed us the form he filled out regarding "Take Your Child to Work" day.

On the last page was a space for additional comments.

Joshua had written: "Today I think God called me to be a pastor."

Doug Boquist is pastor of Bedford, Ohio, Church of the Nazarene. He and his wife, Debbie, have four children.

Please note: All facts, figures, and titles were accurate to the best of our knowledge at the time of original publication but may have since changed.