I sit across from her in a crowded restaurant, listening, watching.
There's a decision to be made today;
not an earth shattering, life-altering decision, but an important decision about stepping into a new position of leadership.
I listen to her recite pro's and con's, and while she lists them I imagine how every fact and detail is written carefully at home in a notebook on her kitchen counter. She gets to the end of her list and takes a sip of her water.
I say nothing. I say nothing for a really. long. time.
She finally clunks her water down on the table and looks at me with tears in her eyes. I know of the grief she is walking through right now. I know that right now it's hard for her to get out of bed; hard to feel anything, hope for anything, see anything but the last few months.
Cancer is a thief, and it stole her Momma. Her young, vibrant, active Momma. 60 days from diagnosis to goodbye.
And now my friend is desperate to stumble into something, anything, that will keep her from sitting on the couch with a remote control in her hand. She is looking for something to wake her up.
"Why can't God just tell us what to do at times like this?"
I say nothing, because that's the wrong question.
The truth is, nothing will change the fact that her Momma is gone. Nothing will change the fact that she has to walk through the grief. She can walk through it busy, or she can walk through it barely moving.
But she must walk through it.
There is no list to check through this time. There are no pro's and con's.
This is life. And it's messy and it's beautiful and it's full of color and it's broken and sometimes it sucks.
And sometimes it's our job to just sit across the table and shut our mouths and let the questions come.
Sometimes questions are just questions. And sometimes they lead to more questions.
And somewhere in the asking, we will find what we're looking for.