As I walked through the waiting room I found exactly whom I was looking for. I didn’t know her name and I’d never seen her before, yet it was easy to pick her out of a crowd. Sometimes you just don’t know what it is about them; you just know they are the one who needs you the most. A downcast glance, shoulders too rigid, an attempt to grab strength that isn’t there: all things that might mark a child who could use just the sort of gift I can provide.

Sitting next to perfect strangers and striking up a conversation isn’t the kind of thing that bothers me any longer. While there’s always the chance to crash and burn there are tricks to starting an effective connection with a child in need, so down I went right into the next seat. A quick lean in and with a very straight face and a mischievous heart I looked right at her and told her “I can draw WAY better than you. Wanna see?”

Like a lot of kids, right off the bat she looked over to Mom for reassurance. Even with my bright red apron, pad of paper and pockets bulging with crayons she just wasn’t too sure about me, and I can’t say I blamed her. Mom decided I was O.K. and encouraged her to watch, and I plowed right in. I went digging into my middle pocket while telling her all about my incredible black pen, plucking at her curiosity and pulling her into my act. The first pen I found was not quite the right one so I plunged it back in and grabbed two others, one of which turned out to be exactly what I was looking for.

Inquiring as to her her name, she replied it was “Sarah,” at least for this story, anyways. “WOW! I LOVE that name! It’s so pretty!” After a little pause and a twinkle in my eye I told her mine was Mr. Don, and looked at her with an expectant expression. After a few seconds of silence as she tried to figure out just what was going on I quietly whispered “Aren’t you going to tell me how much you like MY name? It’s an awesome name, don’t you think?”

That did it. We were best friends. The security blanket dipped from her chest to her lap and the jokes started rolling as the pen moved around the paper. Sarah began to forgot to be nervous. I acted shocked when I discovered she was the VERY SAME AGE I used to be once – NINE! “My job here is to bother people and you looked like a really good person to bother,” and other such nonsense flowed like raging water down a parched gully. After about five minutes the hospital had been transformed from a big building with lots of rooms, people and chairs into a place with really nice people who cared about her. It wasn’t a place to be afraid of pokes and prods, of tests and doctors too busy to stop and care about one little kid like her.

As we chatted I tried to draw out of her just what it was that needed comfort. Without her knowing it I was finding out what made her scared of being there. Was she in and out of hospitals like so many others I work with? What made her cling so tightly to a blanket she was soon to outgrow? A clown was forming on the paper as I continued chatting with her about things that are important in a child’s world.

Over the course of about ten minutes I had cracked her open and found the root of her dread of being there for treatment. She was grieving.

This poor family were no strangers to children’s hospitals, though they’d not been to ours. She’d watched one of her siblings get sick, and over a long period had ebbed away until death finally stepped in and finished the suffering. At least, stopped that little one’s pain. And here was a sister getting tests because of unusual abdominal pain.

I stayed with her for over an hour, staying with her after her name was called, waiting outside and finishing drawings during times they were better left alone. When it was done they asked for directions to the cafeteria. She was terribly excited about pictures, and just grinned and grinned upon receiving them. It turned out she was also an artist, constantly with a pen or pencil in hand. When I gave her one of my pens she was beside herself, and when I told her that if they liked I could show her a couple of tricks down in the cafeteria, she glowed.

I actually didn’t need anything down there, and could have moved on to another child, but something about her told me this was a good investment. It was unusual to spend this much time and attention on one child, but this one was absorbing the kindness and “art therapy” as though it was a healing ointment. I decided I needed a Coke, showed them to the cafeteria, grabbed said drink and went to find a table.

After a few minutes they walked up to the table, tray in hand. They sat down and got comfortable, Sarah grabbing the seat next to my while Mom sat across from her. She noticed a little doodle of a rose on the cover of my drawing pad and commented on how pretty it was. That was a great place to start because it was a surprisingly easy thing to draw.

Keeping up the banter is the key to building a bridge, and if it’s done well it doesn’t just help the child; it helps the staff working with the family through establishing an environment of trust. It helps the family to see their child at ease, and if a volunteer is on the ball, they can usually relieve a lot of stress for the family.

As I showed Sarah how to draw a joyful daisy and a beautiful, graceful rose (which she picked up without a problem), I found out she not only wasn’t married, but wasn’t even seeing anyone. Of course this provided the opportunity for me to tell her about my brilliant and oh-so-handsome hockey goalie nine-year old son. We moved on to stick figures and motion, and more completely silly talk.

Mom watched us with a lot of pleasure. Sarah was in her element, and the day which had started so stressfully for her had been transformed into one of the more memorable events she’d had in a very long time. Her gratitude and relief was obvious. “I don’t think you could have found a kid that could have used you more than her,” Mom told me. “Sarah couldn’t stop talking about you while we were getting our meal.”

It made me feel good. Good that I could do this for Sarah and her mom, good that I could take my unique gifts and translate them into removing fear and dread of the hospital and its staff for one little girl. As I got up to leave Sarah jumped up and gave me a hug. And by that point I didn’t know which one of us had gotten the better part of my finding her.