That sweet name.

She sits on the edge of the booth, eyes darkly clouded over.
A hardened composure, and a speech full of real anxiety, such  burden.
Hopelessness in her mindset, exhaustion in her movement, pain far from the surface. 

There are few moments I treasure more on the streets, then that of offering prayer for a person, and having it welcomed and accepted. 

Oh, the beauty of her whole exterior shifting to a place of relief.
She eagerly opens her hands to hold mine across the table.
Her eyes pinch shut, bowing her head.

We pray together.
The name of Jesus is spoken.

I behold the tears of a dear woman stream quietly down her cheek.
Her strength fades to weakness, her fear melts to peace, her isolation invites relationship.

His name is comfort. His name is healing. His name is hope. His name is restoration. His name is love.

That sweet name.