Deep America

On July 16th, I left Washington D.C. and returned to the American interior. It is likely I will only go back to retrieve my furniture from the semi-drained Swamp. I came up north for a family emergency, and to stay close to my father, who had been placed in a memory care facility. It is fascinating how in times of struggle, angels emerge: a friend who was driving from Annapolis to Western Massachusetts with her family offered me a ride, and we charged up the Eastern coast in true American fashion, car loaded with supplies and snacks. Others helped me find a safe place to stay near the nursing home, from the receptionist whose friend and colleague took me to her own house, to the chaplain who talked me through my fears. Angels appeared at the facility, too: I recognized a girl I had only seen in online recovery meetings walking through the hallways, and found out that she worked there. During that four-day visit, every conversation I had was significant. Everyone had wisdom to impart that seemed to be coming from God Himself, in the way that people become sacramental when God is trying to send a message.