WEDNESDAY MORNING

3am
Knuckles on wood
Black hair framing brown eyes, peeking in
'I can't breathe. I...' words falter
Body wrapped in Scooby-doo fleece
Ice cold, boiling
Ghost faced
Delirious
'I can't stop shaking' whispers through parched lips
Trembling, every bone, an ache building
If demons possessed, this is what I'd imagined
'Breathe, breathe,' I soothed
Wrapped in my arms
Tears in both our eyes
Falling like prayers
'Jesus, please...' fear gathered in my throat
I brushed black hair, stroking, her head nuzzled against my neck
'Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus' her repeated mutter
'You are good, Jesus. You are here, please, calm her, ease her trembling, give her breath.' Out-loud, I prayed.
Jesus, don't take her life, don't let her die in my arms! Show me what to do. Inwardly, I screamed
Georgia.
Georgia would know what to do!
I dialed, she answered.
She had been awakened two minutes before my call, unable to sleep.

Jesus is good. He hears.