Some mornings facing the day is scary.
My heart races as I lie in bed, the alarm glowing green in the dark. It’s time to go. It’s time to peel myself up and out of the cocoon – blankets and baby boys’ soft yielding limbs that are tangled up in mine.
I lie still, slowly gathering my courage. Pulling it around my shoulders like an afghan.
Peace, I must pray for peace. Focus and discipline, I must pray for discipline. Hope, I must pray for hope. But the words are a mirage – they are not the source of courage.
The source turns out to be a man I have never seen with my eyes only with my heart.
When I find him, he is burly. Strong forearms of a craftsman. Hands, calloused and rough. Big and strong. He is walking slowly forward – deliberate. And there is peace in his wake. Love, hope, peace. And unexpected joy. I reach out. I reach out my small worried hand and it fits deep into his palm. I feel his fingers wrap hard around mine. He pulls me forward.
We walk together.