For the first time since Jolene’s death, I unfolded my prayer list to pray for someone else’s needs instead of focusing exclusively on me and mine.
And the first name I saw was—of course—Jolene.
I wanted to tear the paper into little shreds. My mother and another wise friend both counseled me to instead praise God for Jolene whenever I come to her name on the list.
At work I couldn’t stay awake. I struggled with drooping eyelids for 30 minutes or more; took a trip to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and somehow revived. I made it to the end of my shortened day ready to work longer, to get more done. (I didn’t.) I felt, gulp, almost normal, for the space of about half an hour. A great blessing.
I also took the plunge and called the coroner’s office to learn if they had determined when Jolene had died. They could not give an exact date, but their best guess was either Thursday evening or Friday, two weeks ago. I’m glad it wasn’t Sunday, which would have been her birthday, or Saturday, when I knocked on her door. I hope it wasn’t Friday, which was my son’s birthday.
Praise, and peace, in slivers. God is good.