Trees bloomed late that year. Cold April. Chilling May. I watched as snow melted on Easter morning. Counted the times I’d prayed to Christ for salvation and forgiveness of my sins. A constant battle never to win.

People speak of grace. How it touches our lives. Being human and bound to fail. Only to be caught and saved from the wicked.

She looked at me when I was down on my luck. Penniless and hungry, she fed me. I remember the broth when I was sick. Her loving touch. The hand that felt my forehead. Wished me goodnight. Prayers were answered.

I told her I’d never been in love before. Said, I’ve never trusted my instincts. Always ran from what I thought was right. She laughed. A strong tendency to do harm to myself. I figured I deserved it, I told her. Words. These were words, I told her. All true. A constant guilt for my actions. I guess we all pay.

The woman laid beside me and smothered me with love. She said I was afraid to live. Really live. Take a chance on the right thing.

I asked, what is the right thing?

I’ll show you. Follow. Follow me.

Trees bloomed late that year.