These days are a bit lonely, and my heart aches a little. For autumn and for missed friends and for your nearness, Yeshua. Every piece of community is a rich, warm liquid in my throat, a blessed island in the sea of chaos and homework and disconnect.

Last night, I randomly ended up at Bread of Life talking to Don and Cynthia and Bill. Don is probably 55 or 60 and his parents are in their 80's now. Cynthia told me she was born in New York City in 1926 and came West when she was 21. Bill told me, his eyes twinkling, that they met in October (1946?) and married in April because he wanted to marry her before someone else did. He had just gotten out of the war and started a job as a civil engineer for Los Angeles.

They talked about raising Don and his siblings in Portland, about their grandchildren, about Don's education at UCLA and Cyntha's jaw cancer... I know they're not homeless, per se; Don takes care of his parents, but things like Bread of Life, free dinner and community at a park, keep them fed and loved.

What is it like being so poor? Being without health care? Honestly valuing every conversation with another?

Today, I got a surprise package from Jenn with a Tunisian scarf (she just came back from there) and lots of random notes and funny pictures. Arianna left a tea bag and note in my mailstop.

And suddenly, Adonai, you're not so distant and not so elusive. You're a mystery, but Mystery who holds me. And I am very small, and not so wise, and not so humble. My heart is torn, but maybe it's getting softer. And I am safe in the cleft of your rock, beneathe your wings.