I'm running just a bit late, but as I enter the second-floor Wymount apartment I'm struck by how tiny it is. Like a small box, really. I sit on the living room sofa and realize I can see more than half of their home and it's smaller than my bedroom. The truth is there are much closer piano teachers than this first-time instructor. More convenient piano teachers. But I look into her eager eyes, remember keenly what it's like to start out in humble circumstances, and realize that for now I need to drive my kids across town instead of let them walk across the street. I don't resent that; I just know that's what I need to do. And why.

It's 6:45 a.m. and I notice as a van pulls into the driveway at my next door neighbor's house. Is that who I think it is? Yes. You may remember her story. I notice her pained and awkward stride as she walks up to the door. I know without looking that she is carrying a package. A gift bag sith some trinket from the dollar store. Is it my neighbor's birthday, I wonder? Maybe. Maybe not. M~ will drop by her special gifts of love just about any time, in addition to remembering everyone's birthdays. Things are difficult for her right now as she, even in her impaired state, has the almost constant care of her three energetic grandchildren. Her daughter has left yet another troubled relationship and moved back in, but is busy with both school and work. Does she complain? Not so much. "I'm going to turn it over to the Lord," is her constant refrain. God bless the generous, resliient, humble, thoughtful, courageous, enduring M~.