Graced.

Two tiny smiley face stamps.  One planted deliberately in the center of my right palm and one in my left.  Given to me at the end of an hour spent with a new kindergarten age friend.  This little person had been entrusted to my care for the purpose of understanding why the sudden changes in behavior.  The parts of the story that were being entrusted to me through words and pictures were linked together by grief.

I really try not to take for granted the privilege that it is to bear witness to another's grief. Particularly grief that is expressed from the littlest among us.  The kind of grief that brings a lump to my throat as I attend to the story.  The kind of grief that makes me want to come home to my little boy and wake him from a nap just to hold him for a while.  A nap into which his daddy has just spent an hour settling him.

And I struggle to be reminded that grief is sacred.  I cannot take on or take away another's grief.  I can enter into the process where I am invited, but I cannot and should not take it as my own.

So, at the end of our time together, these two smiley faces were given to me to carry home.  Such good and not necessarily deserved gifts to me.

Like little marks of grace.