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Sat with a friend and her new diagnosis this afternoon. No words came, so I held her in the Light for the length of a pot of tea. Sometimes that is the whole prayer.

Sat with a friend in a hospital waiting room today, both of us too tired for words. So I borrowed Julian's: all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. Said it under my breath until I half believed it.

A letter unread

The Talmud says a dream that isn't interpreted is like a letter that isn't read. Which is a lovely line until you have a nervous one at 4am and your study partner is asleep. I dreamt the challah wouldn't rise. Over and over, every Shabbat, flat dough. Very subtle, my subconscious. So on Sunday I did a small, informal version of hatavat chalom, 'making the dream good': I told it to three friends from study group over bagels, and they answered me that it was a good dream. One of them added, 'and also you need new yeast.' Both were true. The new yeast worked. So did the friends.

Psalm 121 at Harold's bedside

Went up to the hospital this week to sit with Harold, who sang bass beside me in the choir for thirty years. He's had a hard fall and a harder week. He can't sing right now, so I told him I'd do the praying for both of us. Psalm 121, the one his mother used to say: 'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.' He mouthed along the whole way. When I got to 'the Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in,' he squeezed my hand so hard I thought I'd need a doctor myself. Folks ask how a deacon can also be a rootworker. Same answer every time: it's all the Psalms, it's all the Lord, and it's all love for the people in front of you.