A gorgeous friend of mine has been joyously married for 50 years, to a man who was very sick the last two. They have many kids. (Sometimes my friend can't remember their exact order of birth, but she says, nonchalantly, "Oh, but I know all their names by heart."). Her husband died Wednesday, and I stopped by their house Thursday. All of their grown kids were there, and her husband's brothers, and some riff-raff (ie, me.) The house was filled with flowers, food, a few of us. My friend was in bed, receiving visitors, telling and hearing stories about her husband, laughing, tearing up, nibbling at honeydew melon. While bending in low to give her my biggest dancing bear hug, I caused someone else to spill their coffee all over her beautiful sheets. I was so mad at myself, but she cried out happily, "I hope it stains, so I can remember the beauty of this morning forever."
And that is what we mean by grace, hope, charity.
And that is what we mean by grace, hope, charity.
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