#Living Psalm 44_Mankin, for November 12, 24th Sunday after Pentecost

My friend calls and I answer because 
I know she needs to talk,
not about the killing fields, not about fear that grips her
by the throat and shakes her community until her people
fall on their knees, begging for a miracle. She calls
because she is also a mother, and her baby is sick
again, and her eldest earned a new belt in her judo class.. 

I’ve answered all her calls 
because I’ve seen her posts on Instagram and know
that she is swamped with the unending horror of it all,
but she tells me about a pumpkin cake recipe
that was a huge hit with all her neighbors,
and I make it that same day because 
it feels like doing something.

I pick up even when I know I should be working.
She reminds me that we need to plan a trip
together, just the two of us, someplace warm
to celebrate three decades of friendship
I’m noncommittal because 
I haven’t slept well and honestly,
I miss her now. I would rather see her and 
hold her hand walking through Target. 

I let her call go to voicemail just once,
because I’m dropping my sons at school,
and they need me to be focused, to hug 
fully present, wish them a wonderful day. 

I get back in the car and listen to her say
all the things she hasn’t been able to,
all the news reports she’s watched, 
the prayers she’s whispered each night.
She tells the recording about the shaking
in her hands and how it never seems to stop.

I call her back, and she tells me about how 
her youngest started walking, and how 
the girls sit bent together now, their hands busy
while she cooks dinner. She asks when 
I’ll be back east. Of course, our schedules don’t line up, 
and I say, call me tomorrow, would you? 

After she hangs up, I say another prayer. 
I can’t say enough of them these days.
I listen to her voicemail again, and I pray.