When I slumped into their couch, they could have said, “Gee, you’re looking more like death every minute. Get out of here before you make us all sick.” Instead, they wrapped me in a blanket, brewed me tea, and (lacking actual kleenex) brought me a roll of TP. I declined the offer of medicine, but if the adage about laughter is true, I got some anyway. When I finally stirred to leave, they offered to drive me home.
I’m graced, and I’m grateful.