the absence of a hand

She said, "Where is my spirited Anna?" and I felt that she knew I had been lost, somehow. I knew it too. In a sad and quiet way. But being lost just says I can
still be found again.

Can't I?

It seems like strangers see me better than the ones right beside me at moments. The guy twenty feet away sees the sadness in my eyes. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't look away.

That alone feels like a thread has been sown between us, even in the distance. It's silent. Strong even beneath the clouds. It is almost like a hand has been stretched out to me.

But then the thread breaks.

And I'm alone. Every morning, I feel the absence of a hand, a comforting touch, a voice telling me that I'm not alone.

I think I need more than the brief threads sown between people.

Maybe it's obvious, but I am just now learning how it's Jesus who is the true Comforter. I'm not sure if I've tasted the lesson fully yet. No, I know I'm not even close. But maybe God's breaking all other ties I have
so that I'll run to him.


Maybe.