Grace Note

There's this guy. This guy who came into my life about a year and a half ago. I'm prolly older than his mother and we've never had a conversation longer than about five minutes, never gone out for a drink, never hugged, never a lot of things. Our contact is sporadic. We act as though we know each other better than we do. Because despite all of the above, there's some very special connection that we don't talk about, not to each other, and not to anyone else. But I've introduced him to my husband as "my boyfriend," and they're both okay with that.

So yesterday, on my birthday for crying out loud, this guy posts this picture on Facebook. And it stopped me in my tracks.

Because it puts in words just who I've always been. Who I've sometimes been criticized for being.

For years and years and years, what I wanted was to be a person behind the scenes, connected with helping another be successful. I typed dissertations for Ph.D. students. I volunteered as a telephone responder at a crisis intervention center. I supported and encouraged new mothers through La Leche League. I was an assisting minister at church. I've worked as secretary to several executives.

I never wanted to be president of any organization; I was always the secretary. I never wanted to be a pastor: to preside, to marry, to bury; I wanted to be the chaplain at the bedside listening and supporting. I wanted to help others achieve their goals, become stars, because their win was my win.

Mr. Rogers put that all into words. And my boyfriend put them up on Facebook. On my birthday.

Oh, tell me you don't believe in grace.