Grace stares everywhere, waiting for her mother, without wings. She finally sees her, and smiles so beautifully.
Psalm 102, The Prayer Of The Afflicted, isn't the kind of thing you just pull out of your ass. It's big guns. It's about how even before drugs we knew what bottom was.
Grace's excerpt shines down on her mother, from above. She can't feel the light, just the shame. The affliction. If you knew it was time for this prayer, chances are it would be too late. That's what intercession is about; sometimes that's how it works. If you had wings, it wouldn't be a miracle. Angels don't have to try; saints never stop. Rock bottom feels like it. Aslan's not a tame lion.
The fact is that the unshakeable Lady Penelope was shaken, afflicted, and all Jackie could talk about was drugs, drugs, drugs. Gave her a warm beer instead of what she needed. Isn't that sad? Poor Taffy, struggling to be real. Poor saint, falling apart. When the only answer was to be of service. When the only answer, ever, is to be of service.
For my days vanish like smoke
I am like an owl in the desert
Among the ruins
I have mingled my drink with weeping
And my days are like a shadow.
Pray for me.
Or maybe Bill was never the Devil at all. Maybe he was just God, untamed, begging her to come back home. In the only language He could still hope she'd understand.