My mom let some insecure words slip through the phone line the other day. She shared her sense of insufficiency as she wondered what words to offer her friend—one whose doctor recently said he thought her cancer had progressed.
The other day, I reached for a handful of Kleenex for a friend when her tears were the only things I could wipe away.
My little terrier tenderly nudged his nose toward something behind me as I brought him back into the house. I unhooked his leash, not realizing his curiosity and concern were grounded on an injured chickadee lying belly-up—just a foot from us.