When I was a little girl, I dreamed of being a superhero. I'd have a huge cape, a sidekick and a cool nickname. Well, I also wanted to be a milkman and a park ranger. Although more than a couple of years have passed since those carefree days, I still kick into superhero overdrive when a friend is swamped in tragedy.
I rush in to see what I can fix. If I can find the right person with the miracle, I'm just sure that the pain will disappear. Everything will be back to normal.

On top of that, when I'm really on a roll, I'll even say something foolish. I'll fill the silence with what I think that my friend needs to hear.

One thing is for certain. None of my pat answers will ever allow me to hear the heart of someone who is hurting. Sometimes, all someone wants is our presence.
It's hard to fight a battle alone. Once you realize that there's a whole army supporting you, hope is renewed.

Last night, thousands of cancer survivors and supporters circled the track at our own horse park. Arm in arm, they marched on through the night. And, as some of them bumped into acquaintances that were new to the cancer battle, they listened. No capes were needed. Life events like these call for a different dress code.

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience." (Col 3: 12 NAB, NIV)

It's time for me to put my cape back in the toy box. Instead, I need to use my heart
to listen.