A while ago, B told me that she understood that I needed her to listen more than she needed to be the one to talk. Her words brought tears to my eyes at the blessings God showers down upon me and yet have prickled my heart ever since.

She needs me to listen. She has fears and frustrations with her children. She has doubts as a mother and a wife. She has all her hopes of having another child wrapped up in just one fragile embryo that is left from more than a dozen who have lost their viability over the past year. A third attempt and most likely last. She needs me, and yet she gives so freely of herself in our phone calls and Scrabble games (even though she has been squashing me on a regular basis of late).

I wish that I were a better friend to her. I wish I had more to offer than pain and coughing and failure and frustration and puppydog worries. I wish I could uplift her the way she does me. I wish my witness would be the balm and chastisement as hers has been to me, encouraging me to never stop striving to be obedient to Christ, to trust, to surrender. I wish I taught her to be loving and to love as she has taught me. I wish her to know the blessings as have I. I wish she could have B in her life instead of a P.

I pray that I can learn to shed more of my self, avert my eyes from my circumstances, and be who she needs me to be.

I love her because she has taught me to love and to trust that I can be me without sending the whole world fleeing...someone will stay...