There are four hours and three mountain passes between us.
Which might as well be four time zones and three continents.
Because when she needs me, it seems I’m here. Not there.
And tied to things that…that hardly matter.
If she texted, “Come,” I would drop it all. I would arrange for this kid to go here and that one there. I would leave notes about stuff that should be done, stuff the calendar says is important. I would scrawl my I-love-yous and my I’ll-miss-yous on a piece of paper and rip it from the notebook.
If she said, “I need you here,” I would charge out of the garage–right now–with the mini van and be there. In four hours. Plus a stop for gas.
But in the meantime…
I am praying. I am praying for my sister, the one for whom my heart breaks. And her husband. And her boys–my nephews–all four of them. Who need a miracle. Who need God to march on their behalf.
And Truth to prevail.
Oh…bring them peace, Jesus.
While I pray.