In her room at the end of a quiet evening, an older woman does what she has done for many years. She talks to Jesus — not formally, not with a list, just the way you talk to someone who is already in the room with you. About the day. About worries that haven’t left. About small joys she wants to name out loud. As she talks, the weight of the evening lifts slightly. The aloneness thins. She says quietly: “Even when no one is around, I talk to Jesus. And I feel less alone.”
