my kitchen floor

it was some day last week. an afternoon filled with nothing much. a cloudy day that had held school, housework, all the usual things.

an old friend came over. i cleaned the kitchen, she stood and we talked. we talked of life. change. our Savior who we love, trust and sometimes do not understand.

she sat down near the dishwasher as i finished the hand washing. holding her cup of coffee, she sat with her legs straight out before her. she sat and told me heart-trouble.



and soon i was across from her. my back against my cabinet, legs on the kitchen rug. i held my own cup of afternoon coffee. i got to listen and share in her heaviness.  then take a turn speaking out my own heart-trouble.

we knew we needed to pray. though we were not sure who should start, someone eventually began. we both shed the tears that come with surrender- speaking the fear to the Maker of all peace.

by the end we were different. better. as prayer so often does, it found us beginning on our knees- in a posture of inability- and brought us to the same posture. on our knees. but different. humbly receiving the grace required- the hope asked for- the peace promised.

we were grateful.

it was an afternoon that surprised me. took me off guard.

and i was grateful.



on my kitchen floor.

He is here.