Sorrow, deep, deep sorrow

I awake to insistent small-town noise -- traffic, lawn movers,
trimmers. Irritated, I make coffee, clean a little, then sit down to
read.

I read words posted online by a broken-hearted man whose mother
struggles with a dreadful disease from which she will not recover.

My chest pulls tight. I consciously breath deeply, slowly,
rhythmically. Still, the tears ... I'm helpless. I cannot bring
health back to the mother or lay a hand of comfort on the son.

So I pray: God, please comfort them both. Soften the edges of their
world.

And, thank you, Jesus, for the small-town cacophony ...