An older woman sits quietly on a morning when weakness has settled in like weather — not dramatically, just pervasively. She is tired in a way sleep does not quite fix. She does not like it. She never liked weakness. And yet something is present in this morning she has noticed before — something that arrives reliably in the weak moments more than the strong ones. A nearness. A tenderness. She says honestly: “I don’t like feeling weak. I really don’t. But I’ve never felt God as close as I do now.”
