My friend is sick.
Really sick—as in cancer sick and in the hospital sick.
I wish I had a mountain of editing and proofreading on my desk today. I don’t.
If I did, I wouldn’t sit here festering, worrying, close to tears.
I have a to-do list, as I do most days.
It’s hard to follow it as I ponder away at life and other mysteries
And ask questions that have no answers, not a one.
Instead of asking
Perhaps I can try to step through this day with grace,
This Cracked Grace
And let my day be a walking prayer for wholeness
Whatever form that may take.