Some days arrive like teachers in disguise.
This morning, a woman spoke of David and Job, of how trust held them through the long dark until the light returned. She wasn't talking about being spared. She was talking about being carried. I listened, and something in me loosened.
By afternoon, an old colleague spoke of a place we both once knew, a client whose weight we carried too long. As he talked, I felt again what I'd known all along: some ground isn't meant to be held. Leaving wasn't defeat. It was faith of a quieter kind, the kind that trusts there's more room ahead than behind.
Before we parted, he placed new cards in my hands, and I placed an old book in his. Paper for paper. A beginning for a beginning. Nothing grand, yet it felt like the whole day folded into one small exchange.
Maybe this is how the spirit moves through us, not in thunder but in what we hand each other on the way.
