Thursday, May 2, 2013


Today I felt particularly overwhelmed by life. Not any one thing, just the accumulation of everything. 

Part of that "everything" included a medical test that required hospital registration -- nothing major but still necessitated all the forms with all the questions that I particularly dread. (Marital status. Next of kin. In case of emergency.) 

I underestimated how much gloom I would feel being in a hospital -- even though it was one that Steve never used. (No offense to hospitals, but if you've seen one, you've kind of seen 'em all.)


At the end of the afternoon, just before I left the house for a board meeting at church, Betty called.

Way back in 2007, when Steve was first showing signs of the Damm Spot, we received a red amaryllis. Betty eventually planted the bulb in one of the beds in the yard at their North Dallas home. And then she forgot where it was (the Dallas Damm yard, unlike the Frisco Damm yard, is lush with lovely plants).

Late today, Betty was looking out a back window when she saw something unfamiliar. She braved the cold, windy, damp weather (seriously unusual for us in May) to take a peek.

It is the red amaryllis, pushing out from the soil after all these years, ready to bloom.


After the board meeting, and before I drove home, I checked my email. There was a note from Janet.

Janet has known the Damms much longer than I have. Her big brother Chris was one of Steve's close friends in high school and a member of our wedding party. Janet and her family live in a nearby suburb.

She had learned that our church will receive a new senior pastor, Carol Sparks, effective July 1. She wanted to let me know that Carol had served at her church for many years and that she was well loved. Included in Janet's note were the most comforting words:

She prayed for Steve often, as I always kept him on our prayer list.

We live in a small world with big hearts.


Steve can no longer wrap his arms around me. He can't offer the comfort that always, always soothed my worried soul.

But God is always, always here. Has always, always been here.

I am thankful for reminders of little miracles. For flowers that eventually bloom. For souls who pray for other souls -- sometimes, often, for people they've never even met. For full circles. For the arcs out there that we don't even know are being formed.

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