My head hung low with sleep still in my eyes, I quietly sip my scalding black coffee. I mindlessly glared out of the dingy kitchen window. Suddenly I hear the bus chugging up the hill; interrupting my stupor. My eyes find Miss Rogers scooting her 3 grandchildren out the front door. As they all dashed to the bus stop, I couldn't stop wondering how she did it all. Raising those little ones. Working all those hours at the nursing home. Devoted to the children and chained to the job.

Worrying, no doubt, about her daughter. Just missing. Gone. Away. Not present.

That morning I understood why Jesus wept