g.

her tiny long limbs
stacked on the couch 
like a pile of 
boards
pain everywhere
in her hip
in her stomach
behind her head 
even the 
bendable stem
that makes up her spine 
shouts in pain.
her eyes are soft
her long Italian hair
spilling everywhere,
somehow
she manages a 
smile,
a laugh here and there 
and i think to myself, 
she is stronger 
than i. 
she breathes through the 
waves of nausea 
as we try to distract ourselves 
with chatter of 
boys named 
brett 
and dreams of range rovers 
and living 
far from 
dutchlandia.
she lets me sit at her feet 
and i love to listen.
she is bright and smart 
and thinks things through.
she is not the little 
bangle jangle girl i 
met so long ago.
here lies a young 
dignified woman,
with vibrant dreams, 
ideas,
and a heart that is 
soft to the 
Spirit.
i admire her.
we pause as i run to the kitchen 
to refill her water bottle. 
she is determined to 
intake 90oz
not just for some grand 
health crazed reason, 
but because she literally needs to 
keep the liquid in her body 
to support the weight of her 
brain and spine.
it is actually imperative 
she drinks the 
water. 
i scan the room where 
she is camped out. 
there are fresh flowers scattered 
in glass jars.
there are mountains of pillows
and plenty of 
creamy natural light 
that spills through the window. 
she is making due 
with what she has been given 
[a generous pile of pain
at the moment]
and pulling the beautiful 
strong parts 
out. 
how i learn. 
how watching her 
here, 
reminds me of a time 
where i walked into a similar season 
of pain and suffering 
and as i watch her 
i remember how much 
God is a sustainer 
and He is so close 
and cares for the broken down, 
the weary, 
and the sick little bodies. 
watching her.
seeing her like this. 
this is what real beauty is 
to me. 
baby g,
thank you for allowing me 
a tiny place 
in your season of 
suffering 
i think i can recognize 
the face of Jesus 
when i see it.