"I need help!" The voice on the other end of the phone line sounded weak, groggy and frightened—it took a few seconds to figure out who was speaking. It was "Mary," a new friend. "Where are you, Mary?" I could tell that something was seriously wrong. "I'm in the General Hospital. Can you come and help me?"

As soon as I was able to leave the house, I drove to the hospital—all the while wondering: "Why did she ask for me? We hardly know each other."

I found Mary lying in a hospital bed that was totally disheveled—dried vomit was obvious by appearance and smell. Her hair was wild and matted with more vomit. Her mascara had obviously smeared across the pillow. She was pale -- very pale -- and shaky.

"What has happened? Why are you here?" I asked.

"I tried to kill myself," she replied. "And everyone is angry with me. The nurses have not helped me comb my hair, or wash my face even."

"Tell me about it," I invited while I opened her nightstand and found the basin, soap and a washrag. I filled it wit warm water, then sat on her bed and began gently wiping the tears from her face.

"Roger and I split up," she began. "He had the kids this weekend and I was so depressed I took a whole bottle of sleeping pills. I wanted to die."

Considering the fact that Mary was barely five feet tall and weighed may be 95 pounds, I wondered if she had really ingested a full bottle of pills.

"How many did you take?" I asked softly.

"I'm not sure. They told me they found 34 pills undigested when they pumped my stomach."

"Oh, then someone found you right away?" I was being quite logical.

"No, actually, that's why I called you. I was not found until my husband brought the children home—48 hours after I had swallowed the pills."

I was quiet for a few minutes as I took it all in. Rationally, that was not possible. Yet here she was alive, although a bit rough looking.

Her next comment really surprised me. "I thought of you right away. Remember the day you came to my house and told me that God loves me?" I nodded my head. "Well, my husband and I had a good laugh at you. We thought you were a 'nut-job' for doing that. But when I came to from having my stomach pumped, you and your words where flooding my mind. That's why I called you."

I had finished bathing her face, neck, chest and arms. I could not find a hair brush, so I took the comb from my purse and began gently combing her hair.

"Do you believe me now?" I asked kindly.

"Well, someone must love me. I should have died and well -- here I am alive."

Mary did live. In a few months she and her husband re-married and the last I heard they were expecting child number six!

As I reflect on this entire event, I can now see how Mary's soul had reached out to my soul when we first met. With my mind, I thought we had become friends because we were both doctor's wives with five children. Our family similarity had created a little "bond" between us. At that time, I was a little "missionary"—full of faith in God and eager to share my faith with anyone who would listen. I had not yet learned the "golden rule" which states: "If they haven't asked the question, they don't want to hear the answer."

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