Amy Welborn, writing here about a discovery in the midst of her own sorrow, stumbles on something so simple but profound, it just took my breath away:

From where I sit on my bed, I count 6 icons, 2 crucifixes, one image of St. Francis, one image of Adam and Eve being lifted from death, and that relic box. Oh, and I see a Guadalupe. And a Florida Gator basketball schedule.

None are “mine.” they were all his.

He prayed the Office almost every day of the last 25 years or so. Prayed the rosary every day for longer. Went to Mass almost every day.

He prayed, and knew intimately all those words I have been praying – or trying to pray – so intensely over the past week.

Thirsting for God. Rescuing from the snares of the enemy. Letting Christ live in me, being consumed, taken over by Christ, the Risen One, alive in Him. Praying for that. Every day. Asking God for mercy, for forgiveness, for peace. For the total embrace of Love.

The hope strikes me, again with great force.

His prayers have been answered.

How can I, even as I acknowledge the crushing, puzzling, confusing loss and my shattered heart – for even Jesus wept – how can I say that I love him and that I believe all this stuff we both said we believed is actually true – and not allow some gratitude, albeit limited and struggling gratitude – to creep into my soul, for that thing, which is not a small thing, but a great thing?

That his prayers – all those prayers, all of the seeking and yearning and hoping have found their blessed end?

How?

Imagine my surprise.

Whether she realizes it or not, Amy is giving the world an astonishing gift. Visit her blog and read some of what she has poured and bled into cyberspace over the last several days of her grief. It is all suffused with something that I can only call grace.