We look over after rushed Bible study devotions with our children and hurried I love yous to our elementary schoolers—but our vans lingered next to each soon after the bus took off. You reach over and passed the crinkling plastic grocery bag covertly through my minivan window. We giggle.

You asked me earlier about this specific bra and how it fits you like a gaping canyon. But you knew your friend was built differently—at least 8 inches shorter than you and 8 inches wider. Only friends can give each other bras that they’ve tried on.

Does this make you my sister?

I smiled because I couldn’t remember the last time I went bra shopping for myself. Thoughts flooded my mind between my husband’s chaotic schedule, keeping up housework, work emails, and all the forms I had to sign for the new school we started attending.

But you met me in the parking lot.

We talked just long enough for you to know that a new bra would be so great.

***

You roll down your window and force a smile. I say hi, but I know you’re wrestling with a thought as you look down on the parking lot blacktop.

I hear you sigh. You see your daughter struggling with school. You’re fighting the choice between bringing her home for the rest of the year or keeping her where she is.

I stay silent. I let your emotions and words wash over me because I know it’s hard. So you ask me questions—what curriculums I used, timing and scheduling of schoolwork, or even motivations styles.

My ideas fumble out, but I know they won’t score any points. The problem is bigger than what we can handle.

But I listen.

I try to honor your grief with reminders of your child’s brilliant, creative spirit. How she beams when she holds up a picture of a dragon she drew in her notebook while she listened to music.

You drove away not with any more answers but with a confidant ready to help you fight the battle.

***

The bus arrives at exactly 3:55 PM today. I’m parked in the shady spot by a tree that’s struggling to get its leaves to grow.

Our conversations were brief, but we joked about how you saw my husband more than I did since you worked at the hospital. I’m always thrilled to hear the stories of my husband outside of our home, and you entertained my curiosity.

One by one, the kids trickled out of the school bus, but I noticed your son standing by my tree, looking around.

He didn’t see you—and neither did I. My phone buzzed.

“I’m late!! I’ll meet you in the parking lot!! Can you grab him for me?”

I quickly text back and yell your son’s name. He perks up and jumps into my van.

My kids were thrilled to see a friend inside our van. My daughter, especially, prodded him. Apparently, today was the day she learned that British accents were particularly hilarious. Your son blushed—but for whatever reason, he told a joke in a British accent, and we all laughed.

10 minutes passed like 10 seconds as I saw your gray sedan peel around to my passenger side while you were still in your scrubs. You apologized profusely. I jokingly say you owe me a bottle of wine, but only if we open it together right in the parking lot after school. Your tense shoulders relax, and you laugh.

You promised. And I knew you would make good on it. After all, your son shared his British accent with my daughter—I figured you’d be just as good at sharing as he was.

***

Dear God,

Thank you for the parking lot.
Thank you for the provision of kind friends.
Thank you for the shared communion.

I’ve learned so much there—thank you for meeting me in the parking lot.

Amen.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series "With a Little Help".