But what I do know is this: it’s okay that her faith looks different from mine. She is she and I am me. Sounds a little Seuss-y, but it’s true. I teach her when and how to pray, but the fact of the matter is, the girl prefers the close-ended Catholic/Episcopalian dinner prayer over the open-ended Protestant one every day of the week. And I won’t correct her on her prayer because I won’t correct her on her relationship with God. It’s hers, not mine.

So, I’ve seen the “growing back lovelier than ever”, and it was nice to be reminded of it as I continue praying for miracles in the lives of those I love. It was nice to be reminded of how weak I was, and how strong I now am. I waited and hoped. I was very well cared for. I was prayed for. I tended to myself with an impressive collection of teas, soups, meds, and naps. And here I am, living a life that’s lovelier than ever.

I can feel HOPE around the corner, looking out for me. Almost like she’s guarding the space where I can’t see. She’s fending off hopelessness and despair. She’s telling fear to take a hike. She’s telling anxiety and bitterness and pessimism they’re not welcome where she is.