Earlier this year following a serious ski accident, my firstborn was suddenly in the ICU. Unsurprisingly, this was one of the most difficult experiences I have faced yet as a parent. As I reflect on my three nights with my son in a place filled with constant death, I am surprised by one of the things that comforted and encouraged me the most during that trying time. I am almost embarrassed to reveal it. Yet in the revealing, I hope you are greatly encouraged.

One of the things that comforted and encouraged me the most while my son’s future was hanging in the balance was the hospital coffee.

The hot black liquid cannot possibly be what really reached my soul in those dark hours. Even I recognize that reality. But what was it then? When I held the warm cup, I consciously recognized the comfort, and I still feel it reverberating months later.

No one’s bucket list contains the ICU. When we think of our happy place, no one is visualizing the ICU. When we hear the three letters I-C-U, we shudder. We catch our breath. We wait for the impending bad news to be uttered. The ICU is equivalent to a nightmare.

Now imagine being in a place of such sorrow with someone you dearly love and then another human noticing you and offering you support.

As I sat in the hostile environment for hours upon hours, a kind nurse with a genuine smile would occasionally pop in and ask me if I wanted a cup of coffee. She was not the nurse that came and took vitals or did any medical procedure on my son. She seemed to be clocked in solely to offer me coffee and a smile. Every time I told her yes. Every time I felt seen. Every time I felt loved. Even now the thought of her handing me that tangible reassurance that I was not alone in that awful ICU room moves me.

That ordinary gesture. That ordinary drink. The normal in a place that felt anything but normal. The non-essential nature of it. The lack of needing to say yes. The disconnect from all the overwhelming questions and information flooding us from every other medical person we encountered. The unexpected offer that echoed the routine offer host after host has made me through the years. It was the deepest encouragement and tremendously comforting. Every cup strengthened me in a palpable way.

I do not recall the taste of the coffee. I do not recall finishing a single cup of it. I do not recall the nurse’s name. I cannot even picture her face. All I remember is how loved and supported I felt by a total stranger merely doing her job as my whole world had come to a screeching halt and was completely turned upside down. Her repeated act of thoughtfulness touched me to the core and remains with me to this day. Who would ever guess hospital coffee is made so strong?

Ten months after my son’s ICU stay, I am now loosely connected to a family that has a daughter in the ICU over the Christmas holiday season following her brain surgery and cancer diagnosis. I have never met this family, but our children both attend the same school, though they do not know each other either. My temptation is to do nothing, feeling I have nothing to offer. However, after the encouragement of another mom reminding our GroupMe members of the power of kindness from a stranger, I finally wrote a card and dropped it in the collection box in the school lobby. Have I so soon forgotten the profound comfort of hospital coffee?

Who around you is suffering? Who could use a reminder that they are seen and not alone? How is God prompting you to show them that you care? Counterintuitively, the simplest of acts on the darkest of nights might be the needed solace. Not only for friends and family but also for total strangers.