A colleague once said something to me that I have never forgotten. She looked at me and said, “When I am sick and old, I would want you to take care of me.”
I looked at her and, honestly, I did not know what to say.
As a Christian, my first inner thought was deep and quiet. Part of me wondered whether I should tell her not to speak that way. Not because she meant any harm, but because words carry weight. And sometimes as believers we become careful about what we declare over our lives. But another part of me stopped and reflected. Maybe she said that because of the way she sees me. Maybe she sees compassion in me. Maybe she sees someone she believes would care for her with love, patience, and dignity.
Still, her words left a question in my heart that has stayed with me ever since:
Who treats a nurse when she is sick?
Nurses spend their lives caring for others. They comfort the weak, clean the wounds of the hurting, feed those who can not feed themselves, calm the confused, and sit with people in moments when life feels unbearably fragile. They stand in places many people avoid places of suffering, pain, dying, loss, and fear. They carry other people’s burdens daily, often while silently carrying burdens of their own.
But what happens when the nurse becomes the one in need of care?
This is something I have observed over time, especially among nurses and carers working in nursing homes; those who are involved in direct patient care every single day. I am not speaking from research here, but from what I have seen with my own eyes. Many of these nurses seem to reach retirement already worn down. Some go on pension with illness. Some sadly pass away before they can even enjoy the fruit of their years of labor. Some even end up in the same nursing homes where they once cared for others.
And I can not help but ask: Why does this happen?
There may be practical answers. Nursing is physically demanding. It drains the body, the mind, and the emotions. Long shifts, stress, sleeplessness, lifting, exposure to illness, emotional exhaustion, and the pressure of constantly caring for others can slowly wear a person down. But I believe there is something deeper too.
As Christians, we understand that life is not only physical. There are things happening that the natural eye can’t fully explain. Nursing and healthcare, especially when done closely and personally, are deeper than they appear. There is a spiritual side to this work that many people do not talk about.
When you work with the sick, the elderly, the weak, and the dying, you encounter more than symptoms and diagnoses. You witness things that humble you. You sense atmospheres that words can’t fully describe. You see strange occurrences, unexplainable behaviors, deep suffering, and sometimes even a nearness to death that can’t be ignored. There are moments when a room feels heavy. There are times when you can sense that someone is about to leave this world. Some nurses know exactly what I mean when I say that sometimes you can even smell the scent of death.
This kind of work is not ordinary. That is why I believe nursing is deeper than simply being kind, caring, smiley, and nice. Those things matter, of course. But nursing is also sacrifice. It is service. It is warfare in ways that are both seen and unseen. It is pouring out strength, compassion, patience, and presence into people who are often in the most vulnerable moments of their lives.
And if a nurse is not spiritually guarded, emotionally restored, and physically cared for, that kind of life can slowly empty her.
The Bible reminds us in Galatians 6:9, “Let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.” That scripture is encouraging, but it is also honest. It acknowledges that in doing good, weariness can come.
And nurses know weariness.
They know what it means to keep smiling when they are tired.
To keep giving when they feel empty.
To keep showing compassion when their own hearts need comfort.
To keep standing beside others while quietly breaking inside.
Sometimes I wonder if many caregivers suffer because they spend years pouring out and very little time being poured into.
Who prays for the nurse?
Who checks on the caregiver?
Who notices when the strong one is tired?
Who reminds the one always helping others that she, too, is allowed to rest?
Jesus said in Matthew 11:28, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” What a powerful invitation. Because if there is anyone who understands the burden of caring, it is Jesus. He touched the sick, healed the broken, wept with the grieving, and carried suffering that was not His own. He understands the invisible weight of service.
This is why I believe nurses need more than salaries and pensions. They need prayer. They need covering. They need rest. They need safe places where they can lay down the emotional and spiritual weight they carry. They need churches that intercede for them. They need families that understand them. They need communities that do not only celebrate their sacrifice, but also support their healing.
My personal thought is this: many nurses are wounded while they are busy healing others. And because the world is so used to seeing them as strong, their pain often goes unnoticed. But God sees. God sees every exhausted shift, every silent tear, every act of compassion, every burden carried in secret. Nothing given in genuine service is hidden from Him.
So when I think back to my colleague’s words, I hear more than a simple statement. I hear a longing. A hope. Maybe even a quiet fear. The hope that when her time of weakness comes, someone gentle will be there for her. The hope that after spending a lifetime caring for others, she too will not be forgotten.
And that brings me back to the question still resting in my heart:
If nurses spend their lives caring for the sick, then who will care for the nurse when she is the one in need?
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