There was an extra hour yesterday. It plopped into my day like a freebie, allowing me the chance to stay in bed longer, or finish the binding on the latest quilt, or get ahead on the laundry. Just kidding, make that catch up. 

It arrived on the heels of a week in which my gratitude for basic functionality went up a notch. I spoke with someone whose mobility is compromised. As in just plain walking.  I prayed for a woman whose medical complications now make it dicey to finish a good meal. My heart went out to a person struggling to fill her lungs. And as is often the case I felt a surge of compassion for the mothers whose nights are chopped into little pieces. Fragments, I might add, which do not add up to eight. 

One of the dilemmas is that even though I have no trouble walking, or eating, or breathing, or sleeping, there is not an easy means for handing over those sweet blessings to someone else. In contrast to the many apps that make money transfers simple, this is an oversight.

I did manage to join a friendly group of Samaritans who showed up to do yard work for a family on overload. I felt moved to be able to listen to a woman whose troubles get in the way of appetite. I signed up to bring supper to the couple longing for a deep exhale. It was my pleasure to hold the baby of a momma whose slumber numbers are low, though she did not opt to take a power nap. 

It is possible to sleep through the needs of people around me. But connection pulses with life when I choose to wake up.