When you read this . . .

It’s 102 degrees in the empty parking lot. The mouse shoots past me, silent, alone, nosing pavement that almost sizzles. Lurch right, veer left, double back. Poor thing. My toes bunch in commiseration.

I can’t unsee this.

It’s the outsize proportions, the cruel exposure daunting a creature at home with small spaces, shadows, the familiar path along a wall.

I see you, little one. Displaced. Afraid. No clear way forward.

Insight arrives on an intake of breath: God is here. Now. Companioning me in harsh circumstances.

Several months ago, we moved out of our home. Mold issues. Dreamer’s declining health. Turns out remediation as well as restoration professionals advise widely varying options for treatment. Inspection results may disagree. Wildly. Feeling dwarfed by potential repercussions if we choose the wrong path, it’s hard to read the terrain. Whom to believe? Which data is true?

Am I a project manager now? Hand me a fetching sunhat, a slouch beanie. Not a hard hat.

Dreamer and I have yet to sign a contract. Possibly this weekend . . .

And for this we thank you, dear friends. You have prayed, called, sent emails and meals, cards, affirmations, puzzles, new books to read, mail-order fruit, gift cards, and texts. You have shared resources, research, counsel. Shelter. You’ve shared your faith with gentle empathy. And how we have needed your care!

On the morning the Waste Management truck was scheduled to pick up Darlene the Dumpster (holding 2/3 of our worldly goods), I made a final trip bearing a long narrow sculpture I’d made to honor my mother. Created from paper I’d made in a blender, then shaped, using clay molds, the fragile elements were suspended within a vintage shutter, louvers removed. I loved it. But the risk of spore contamination outweighed sentiment.

Heeding a nudge, I paused to scan fragments of Mom’s letters, collaged around the frame.

“When you read this, I will be thinking of you.”

Friends, I don’t know your hard places, can only imagine the heat you may be enduring amid fears, decisions, relentless questions.

But I know the One who sees you.

And I know, in part, this community. Share in the comments, if you wish, ways we might pray alongside you?

Mouse Photo by Anton Lammert on Unsplash