What with all my expectations long abandoned

My solitary nature notwithstanding

You're the one who pulled me

Out of that crashlanding

My stunning mystery companion~(Lyrics from Jackson Browne's My Stunning Mystery Companion)

This week the moon seemed to follow me, like some stunning mystery companion.  One evening I spent several minutes gazing out my window at its golden orb, like a decanter of light.  The inky craters etched on its white face seemed like pictographs--shadows of somthing I could not distinguish. Its simple presence, hanging there in the black night seemed to hold something for me--something I longed for but could not name. 

And then that contemplative moment dissolved.  I forgot about the moon, and real life swallowed me up.  Meetings, deadlines, housework, doctor's appointments and finally taking my car in for its next check-up. I sat waiting to hear how much I would have to pay to keep me safely on the road.  And there I sat by another mystery companion.  I noted a purple cane was propped against her chair.  She waited too for the monetary verdict for her 1992 Ford.  I felt curious about this elegant woman.  I guessed she was probably over eighty.  She wore trendy black horn-rimmed glasses.  Her Nike's sported neon-orange laces that matched her Coach bag trimmed in neon-orange leather.  Her legs were pipe cleaners, white cotton socks clinging to her frail ankles.  She wore a gold wedding band.  She clutched a paperback romance novel.

I couldn't help it.  I said to her, "If I were to buy a cane, I would buy a purple one like yours."  She looked at me, brown eyes glittering out from a face folded in wrinkled beauty.  "Yes, I thought I better bring it this afternoon.  I don't really need it that much, but I like to be safe."  I heard a New York accent.  She fluffed her gray permed hair as she spoke, her hands slender and blue- veined with light splashes of brown, the color of heavily creamed coffee.  A designer watch dangled from her wrist.

And then she spoke to me as if I was her next of kin. She'd lived in Charleston for thirty years, moved here when her son was transferred to the city.  But then he moved again and she and her husband decided to stay--warmer than New York.  "But I lost my husband not long ago.  I'm alone now."  Her speech weakened.  I could tell she was trying not to cry--those kind of strangled, breathy sounds.  "What helps with the loneliness?" I asked.  "I get out and do things.  I'm not giving up.  I drove down here to the Ford place today at 70 mph.  Thought I'd be late, but I wasn't.  And God.  God helps me."  I nodded.  I wanted to say something wise or helpful or encouraging.  But I couldn't think of anything at the moment.  All I said was, "Bless you.  God bless you." 

Then I had to go, had to get my car and pay that exorbitant amount.  I waved.  She smiled.  On my drive home the moon was just beginning to rise.  I noticed it there appearing to be nestled between winter bare tree branches.  I couldn't stare at it, because I was driving, but I kept glancing at its regal visage, appreciating its beauty and consoling presence.  I suppose God is in some ways like the moon.  He is always there, even when we can't see His light during the day, or when skies are leaden. His constancy overarches our lives and He whispers to us in our longings, pulls us up in our grief, like some stunning mystery companion.