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Ezrah came dressed as a sheep for her popsicle date with Stasia. She frolicked over to the table, popsicle in hand, and began to sing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” She could hardly contain her giggles, clearly entertained at her own wit.
I froze in front of half a dozen carrots waiting to be chopped.
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There is so much I remember: the stories of her experiences working for CPS, of making Zurek with her grandmother, and of her world travels; the sharing of her wisdom; the hope she had for my future. But what always hits me hardest is the memory of her overabundant love. Woven with every word of those stories, every snippet of wisdom, and every expressed hope was one thing: love.
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I haven’t worn make-up in twelve days. For each of those days, my grimy hair has been disguised by a messy bun and a headband. I have maintained a uniform of sweats and leggings, sometimes the same pair two days in a row. And for twelve days my phone has continued to chime, reminding me of appointments, engagements, and small group meetings.
All of the things my life consisted of have been put on pause, removed, or transformed. Things that help provide for my family, improve my health, and nurture the relationships I have with people I love and care about don’t look the same as they did thirteen days ago.
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Listen well. Because if it weren’t for the muting of all of the noise in our world, I doubt that I would have heard the underlying message those fifteen minutes had for me.
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