It’s wrong and creepy and voyeuristic, but I just can’t stop myself from watching this couple that is sitting in the car parked right in front of my window. I’m at my favorite coffee shop, have just finished up my Bible study, and am preparing to write. I look out at the warm gray gloom that is any given Sunday in spring in Seattle, and I see them, sitting there in the car, her face covered and his arm around her shoulders.
I’m touched by their tenderness. The woman is clearly truly distraught. I imagine scenarios. Maybe they are breaking up—perhaps she has cheated on him and is overcome with grief over what she has done. Perhaps he has just informed her that he has found someone new. Maybe she just learned that her brother has died. Maybe they just lost their baby. Maybe she is simply overwhelmed by a range of mundane things—the unpaid telephone bill, that leaky shower head, and the final straw, the fact that their dog didn’t hold his bladder this morning—things that, lumped together, form one big overwhelming, dreadful sense of void. Then it occurs to me that maybe the two are not a couple, but friends, or siblings.
Either way, the man is a tree for her to lean against, a willow to cover her. It is beautiful, although her grief seems very real and raw and painful.
I have now decided to turn my back to them because I know recognize this moment and I know it needs to be theirs alone. But I can’t help but wonder—what happened? I can’t help but appreciate that no matter what the circumstance a friend’s arm can be a blanket in a cold world.
Who is a blanket in a cold world for you? I am blessed to count many brothers and sisters as such.
And of course, there is God, my ultimate Blanket in a Cold World. Today I have been reminded and then reminded again that even in the midst of the deepest sorrow, we have to remember our blessings--the blessing of a good friend, a loving hug, a reminder that we are loved. So I'm feeling Thankful.