She puts her hand on my arm and asks me how they can pray for me.

I’ve just met them. Just learned her and her daughter’s names right there on a Wednesday night a few rows from the front of the church.

She asks me for a prayer request.

I try to think fast. What is the greatest burden on my heart? It’s like a perfect winter blizzard–the way the summer memories spin. I sift through which phone call was the most painful, which conversation the most difficult, which word caused the most grief.

“I just feel lost,” I tell her. She has kind eyes.

It’s a perfect winter blizzard.

And she tells me later how she lost her husband ten years ago. It’s still hard.

It’s still hard.

“But,” she pauses, “I wonder. Could we could just thank God? He has given me a passion for His Word in my grief.”

She prays Scripture like it’s a rich dessert, savouring every word. She prays with conviction.

And I drive home on a Wednesday night, singing in the darkness of my car.

“For the word of the Lord is right and true; he is faithful in all he does.” Psalm 33:4