Always Real

She Doesn’t Know

There is a woman in my neighborhood who has cancer. She doesn’t know that I know.

From my dining room windows I see her walk past my house nearly every afternoon. Sometimes she is alone. Sometimes she is with her husband or her boy. She never looks up. She doesn’t know that I watch her walk past.

As I watch her walk past, I wonder if she is thinking about her mortality, about her next life, about her uncertain future. She doesn’t know that when I see her, my heart aches for her. She doesn’t know that beyond the windows I am grieving for her suffering. She doesn’t know.

When I see her, I pray for her, that she might beat this cancer, that she might see her boy married, that she might walk a thousand miles on this earth, that God might have mercy on her. She doesn’t know that I pray for her.

When I see her, I am her. 

I pray that God will have mercy on me too.  I pray that I might see my boy married, that I might walk a thousand miles.  And that maybe someone, somewhere is praying for me too.