The text came in at precisely 3:28 am this morning.
The Grab Stone
And of course, My Weird Brain was wide awake at that moment.
So I read it:
“PRAY.”
That was it…but it spoke volumes. It was from a dear girlfriend and sister in Christ (did i just Jesus you? oh yes i did) who was evidently undergoing a crisis of sorts. When this girlfriend tells me to pray? I hit my knees faster than you can say Pete’s Your Bachelor.
What was I praying for? That wasn’t immediately clear. But I prayed nonetheless…for her and for her offspring, for their father and for his wife. I prayed over the whole mess that has tormented her for the past decade. And by the time I was finished, tears were streaming from my eyes and I was spent. I just knew, from past history, that the request signified something dreadful.
I texted her back: “DONE.” And I waited.
The story slowly unfurled via choppy texts over the next hour, which signified that she wasn’t at a location that enabled her to speak on the phone. The story was, indeed, dreadful.
So I prayed some more.
And again? I prayed.
Several hours later, she found herself with a moment to talk, and so we did. We cried and pondered why and prayed and cried some more. My heart ached for her and for my own feeling of uselessness in this family situation. I asked with some trepidation, “What else can I do?”
“Ummm…you can have your Handy Man swing by and take a look at my drywall that needs repair. I’d do it myself but have absolutely no time for it.”
“Consider it done!” I replied with a new sense of purpose. “Can we come over while you’re not home today?”
“Sure,” she answered…and then she promptly dissolved into indistinguishably quiet sobs.
“How can we get in?” I pressed, praying (again) that I would be able to understand.
“The Grab Stone,” she croaked, so softly that she was barely audible.
My mind flitted here and there, conjuring up etherial images of a shiny grab stone in a secret location on the exterior of her house that, when rubbed just so, would grant the rubber with access to her abode. “OK…Where is the Grab Stone?” I asked with reverence befitting to the reference.
“Huh?” She choked. And then…silence.
And then? Chuckles, followed by guffaws, followed by belly laughs which made me envious that I wasn’t in on the joke.
“Grab Stone?” she echoed. And then, “I said garage code!”
Ooooooooohhhhh.
Realization and fits of laughter simultaneously washed over me. I chuckled. I guffawed. I snorted and howled.
And when our laughter subsided, we prayed in gratitude for laughter in the midst of crisis.
And for The Almighty Grab Stone.
