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You tell me your stories and I'll tell you mine. Isn't it bizarre the way we'll strike up a conversation with a total stranger and before the coffee has a chance to chill, we've shared a slice of life?

We had just sat down to have a drink on the deck of the big ship when a burly young man joined us. You do that on a cruise. He was a roadie for a band whose groupies were ever present. He told us his stories about the endless driving, travel, long hours, no sleep and how he missed his mama and daddy. We laughed and told him our stories about our kids and their antics. We even told him about the dog (ours) who ate the bag of weed that had been left behind by a college student (also ours) and how she (the dog)was depressed but very hungry afterward. I thought that he might pop a gut laughing. That story will probably be repeated up and down the east coast forever.

That same night we sat next to a very athletic as well as attractive young couple at dinner. Married for three years both in the banking industry, I thought that they'd like our kids since they were so like them; young, attractive, athletic, hopeful, you get the picture. Two days later after several chance encounters and a few drinks with them the talk turned to children. I asked if they wanted to have kids. The young woman looked wistful and said that, yes, they would and in fact had had a son who'd lived for just two short days. He was born too soon and didn't survive. She went on to say that it had been a year that week and she'd been given the go-ahead to try again. That was the impetus for the cruise; to try again, but not to forget the first. She had done a little sun-bathing that day to build up her vitamin D . Behind the wistfulness in her eyes was a faint whisper of hope. I promised to pray for them by name. Explaining that the way I pray is not for the outcome, but rather for the good to come from the journey and the strength to handle what might come next. I pray for grace, peace, health and happiness.

While Gene slept one morning, I ventured alone to the dinning room for breakfast. Feeling very alone, I wished I'd brought my book to hide behind. I shouldn't have feared being alone, however, because I was whisked upon my arrival to a table of older ladies laughing and talking like old friends. I apologized for crashing their party, but was quickly informed that they weren't old friends at all ! Seated next to a sweet-faced lady, I ordered a hearty breakfast and begin to chat with everyone. The lady next to me was a Hospice nurse, I discovered. She was widowed, having nursed her own husband through pancreatic cancer. After his death, she sold the house and moved to the warmer south. Her two sons visit often and she had grandchildren she loved dearly. Again, I noticed something, but couldn't quite place just what. We talked education, politics and the getting older factor. As we stood to leave, she confessed that she hadn't told the whole story about her children. There had been a daughter, gone now nine years. No, she affirmed, you don't ever get over "it"; you just go on and embrace the new normal. "It" happened when the girl was just 18 and full of college dreams. The night before the move to her new campus home the girl and a friend were busy driving around town saying good-bye to their high school friends. Her mother asked her to stay home and get her things in order and the girl promised to do so, but oh just one more good-bye, please. Mom relented and never saw her girl alive again. A car accident; the girl never knew what hit her. The friend lives on in a semi-vegetated state/limbo world in a facility in town. My sweet-faced new friend smiled and bid me a good morning and moved on to find her companions. We didn't meet again, but her story touched me because back home a dear friend of ours is this week in a courtroom facing the monster who killed her child after his afternoon of golfing and drinking. My heart hurts for them. My prayers are for them; peace and grace.

There were other stories heard as well as told last week. Many of them have already faded in my memory, but those two stories of lost hope clutched my heart. I wanted to swim as fast as I could to the solid ground where my children and grandchildren were breathing, laughing and just being. I wanted to hold them, smell their sweet scent, and tell them again and again how much I love them.

I expect never to cross paths with anyone I met last week. The world is a big place and even though we shared a small space in time, the space opened and we spilled over the land and moved on to our home place. I will pray for all of them.

Tonight I did touch, smell and love at least three of our kids and three of our grand-darlings. We handed out the gifts and shared a meal. We Skyped with the one lives far away with the other two grand-darlings. For a slice of time all of them filled our home again with their laughter. My heart filled and my prayers were answered. They are safe and happy.

Tell me your stories and I'll tell you mine. My heart is open and waiting.