Before tonight’s school board + city council work session (both uncapitalized because they seem frivolous compared to where my thoughts are today), I went to the hospital.

Mostly, to try to be supportive of AT, whose saga of the past week is absolutely heartbreaking.  I got a little lost in the newly-rearranged hospital, and didn’t get there before he went in for his 5:30 visit, but Daco and Mrs. Daco came by, and we waited together for a while.

About 6:20, we were granted a couple of passes at the desk, and a nice young doc let us through the doors to CCU.  We probably weren’t supposed to be there, but there we were.
No words came, but I stroked BJ’s hand to let her know — to let her feel — that she is loved and treasured.  That I still have hope.  What strikes me even now is the soft skin of a young woman’s hands…  a woman who is probably a decade from looking in the mirror to see her first dreaded wrinkle… and yet, she lies at the brink.

This afternoon’s desperate prayer was decidedly less conversational, but a simple tear-soaked plea: in the New Testament, a woman was healed by simply reaching out to touch the hem of Jesus’ coat.  BJ can’t reach out, so I asked that He simply walk by, and allow the hem of his coat to simply brush her hand.  I know he’s there; just walk by, just close enough.

Whether that touch results in healing or salvation (or both) is up to God.  Please keep praying with me for her.