It came in the mail this summer.
With a cryptic return address and no signature,
it might as well have appeared out of nowhere.
It was short,
but it spoke volumes,
shouting the voice of my Father
when things had been very, very quiet for months.
Though it resonated those first few days,
it has become increasingly meaningful as months have passed,
and I see the nuances that have woven their way through this strange summer.
Not long after it came, I learned who sent it from someone else
blessed with a word
(a very different word than mine, I might add)
from this anonymous author.
Surprisingly, knowing who wrote did not diminish its power.
the author was not someone I know well.
She doesn't live in my town,
and there is absolutely no way she would have ever known,
that I needed those words
she had spent much time on her knees
talking to my Father