a mother and child

This morning I received a call from a friend in crisis. It was that dreaded sound in her voice--I heard it the instant the receiver touched my ear... the one that freezes you and in an instant makes all bad things possible:accidents, painful secrets revealed, death. This time someone is in the hospital: a baby might not be born alive, the young mother's life is in peril.
It is my best friend who has called me, and she wants to cry, to wail her fear and sorrow to me. Her heart aches and the fear is too big to bear alone. I cannot make it better for her. I think of the Henri Nouwen quote from Brad yesterday. It is my time to simply be there. I can offer no great words of advice. We both know Jesus is in the room with our friend. I tell her I will pray and she already knows this. I tell her I love her, and this is just the smallest bit of salve to ease her pain. In this friendship we have known deep sorrows and great joys. We will have more of both. There is comfort in believing Jesus knew long ago we would need one another and He set His hand to bringing us together.
Now the pile of laundry I swore I would fold and the agenda for tonight's meeting and the return calls and messages that loomed so large in the night have slipped back into their rightful places. A mother and child are standing on the edge of life itself, a part of this great, clumsy, beautiful body we belong to is threatened, and I fall to my knees and pour my heart out, too. For there is One whose arms are the greatest comfort of all, and I long to be in them.