The son who calls

"In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength."* — Isaiah 30:15

Dan called tonight at eight o'clock, which is when Dan calls, because Dan is a man who does things at the time he has always done them, and I have come to believe that this is not a small thing about a person but the whole thing.

He asked about my week and I told him about the garden and the bird I cannot name and the field guide I still have not bought, and he said he would send me one, and I said I did not need him to send me one, and he said he knew, and then he sent me one anyway. I will have it by Thursday. That is Dan.

We talked about the children. Jack is playing basketball this fall and is not good at it yet and does not appear to care, which Dan finds amusing and Beth finds concerning, and I find encouraging because a twelve-year-old boy who can be not-good at a thing without it ruining his week is a twelve-year-old boy who is going to be fine. Olivia is reading a book about horses and has informed Dan that she needs a horse, and Dan told her they would discuss it, which is Dan's way of saying no without saying no, and Olivia knows it, and Olivia will bring it up again next Tuesday, and Dan knows that too.

He did not mention his father's birthday.

I did not mention his father's birthday.

It is a week from tomorrow and we both know where it sits and neither of us moved toward it, the way two people can walk around the same piece of furniture in a dark room without bumping into it because they have been walking around it for seven years and their feet know where it is.

Isaiah says in quietness and in trust shall be your strength, and I think about that when I think about Dan, because Dan is the quietest strong person I know. He does not tell me he is fine. He does not tell me he is not fine. He calls at eight o'clock on Tuesdays and asks about my week and tells me about his children and says *Night, Mama. Love you.* And that is the whole report, and it is enough, and it has been enough for seven years, and I trust it the way I trust the phone ringing at eight.

Lord, thank you for the son who calls. Thank you that he does not need me to ask.