Blessed

SunflowerI sat this afternoon with a friend.

This friend of mine, she’s sick. Her future is uncertain at best. We needed tissues, my friend and I. We talked about Heaven, about family, about dying. About God’s grace, portioned out day by day.

We talked about flowers and her love for gardening and about music that heals the soul.

We talked about faith and the long path it sometimes takes to get there.

She held my hand, and we prayed like we were drowning, desperate and gasping for the presence of the God who brings peace.

The way life goes, with its twists and turns, is not for the faint of heart. And perspective is never clearer than when we’re nearing the end of the road.

The sky was bluer when I walked out her door. The laughter of my children made me want to freeze this moment, crystalline and pure, and fold it into my heart like a seed of promise that God’s goodness overflows even in the hard times.

You said you were glad I came, that you were thankful for the sunflower I left on your table. But truly, my friend, I am the one who was blessed.

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