A wing

It's lovely and quiet at 3:06 in the morning. The wind is terribly cold outside.

I went to church tonight and found a spot on the last row on the second level. It's a good perch to watch people, to scout out my sixtysomething good friend and her husband. It's a comfort to see them: her blood pressure, his heart are functioning. She's still alive and spunky to affirm her life and me, which she's quite good at, without judgment or the righteous discernment. She bears with me, and she says it's reciprocal. A blessing. She blesses others too, seems to have a wing that she spreads outward, and we all know she's a safe retreat from cold wind. Once afer a terrible teaching day at high school, when the students failed to separate fiction from historical accuracy, when the other teachers grouped together, and I felt on the outside, I called her. "What are you doing?" An indirect scream for help. "Going into a department store to shop. What's going on? I can meet you." And she came over near the high school, my sweet reminder of women who cared, a Christ-abider who abided, and we had coffee, and she confirmed my identity in Love. She's one person who knows my thin tatters of being a human but can also recognize a royal robe on a beloved child. She picked me up to follow my daughter to the emergency room. She's prayed much for me. I'm quite blessed to have her in my life, like others whom she quiety nourishes.

Tears of gratitude.

Soon I need to sleep. We have a busy week ahead. We have a decisive week ahead as my husband must determine which of three offered jobs he will take. I'm wondering if we'll stay here. I'm wondering if my friend can still be part of my weekly tangible life.

I pray for courage and clarity