I think I might be over the hump and part of that is because you showed up and cheered me on the way you’re prone to do. You do it well, I might add.

I thank you.

Then, yesterday, I talked on Skype with these two sweet, sweet hearts and marveled at technology but more than that, I lost my words because I wanted them to know how much they mean to me and just how much they make me feel like I can do this. But there aren’t enough words. So I gushed a bit and they were filled with grace and it spilled over right into my lap and splashed a bit on my toes like when the woman in the bible broke her alabaster jar. And all day long, when I turned just so, or a breeze came by and lifted up the sleeve of my shirt, I caught the scent of grace because it had seeped into my pores.

Part of it’s because I know my men are on their way home. Last week, before he left, H leaned on the kitchen counter and told me I would miss him around Wednesday and I shook my head and looked at him while I drank sweet tea from a straw. “I’m not gonna miss you,” I’d said, thinking of the quiet and my list of things to do and all the work I knew I needed to get done.

And on Wednesday, just as he’d promised, I noticed I was carrying around an empty ache and wondered why no one had nudged me in the night to tell me I was snoring, or wrapped his arm around my waist and told me I am, well, we’ll just keep that to ourselves. And I’m like every woman whose men go off into the wilderness with whatever they can carry on their backs — I am praying they’ve been safe and good and they return home better than when they left.

For now, I stand in the bathroom and notice I feel confident as I twist my hair and wish someone would read to me.