My best friend.

She reads my mind and sends me pieces of clarity when I am most in need. Yesterday;

I am thy shield. Have no fear. You must know that "All is well." I will never let anyone do to you other than My Will for you. I can see the future. I can read men's hearts; I know better than you what you need. Trust Me absolutely. You are not at the mercy of Fate, or buffeted about by others. You are being led in a very definite way, and others, who do not serve your purpose, are being moved out of your Path by Me. Go very quietly, very gently. All is for the very best for you. It was out of the depths that David cried unto Me, and I heard his voice. All is well.

A cold and windy Sunday a week ago, a long and painful respite between trials. She was sitting on the grass, I standing next to her, I looked down and was struck by how much she looked like me. Her eyes were my eyes. Or was it I that looked like her? Face fixed with the focus of a warrior, mind given over to St. Michael, and the call to duty that waits ahead. Painfully ahead. There is no choice but to succeed. She looked like all of those pre-alarm early mornings at OSP when I would stare at the ceiling, steeling myself for the day. She looked like a mixture of stoicism and grace, ferocity and tenderness. A double-edged sword, the way the Romans must have looked as they marched to battle, hearts full of Socrates.

In the interview today I couldn't help but let my mind wander to my memories of the previous job. The ghosts haunt me less frequently now, but they remind me of my place from time to time. I thought of all the confessions, and the usually more embellished justifications. All of the catharsis and soul-purging that happened in the backseat of my cruiser, while I listened, and nodded my head, and prayed and offered up my faith with each rider. I always had a sense, doing my job, that God had passed through me, and that maybe for a moment there, just for a moment, God was me.

And she knows exactly what I mean, because she has felt God coarse through her arteries, felt God's presence pass through her fingertips in a far more intimate way than I ever have. And still she goes quietly, and gently, with a humbleness that could test even the most saintly.

And every night as I pray I give thanks for having been so blessed to know her.