On my last trip home to Virginia from Marble it was particularly rough, especially during the last part of the flight. The winds were suddenly 50 miles an hour, and the plane was shaking. Then, on the approach, it got really bad, the stewardess sounded particularly frantic about the “turbulence” we were entering and the plane was bucking like a bronco. While I have gotten more and more scared of turbulence as I get older, this was the first time I thought, hmmm, this flight may not end so well. It was a small prop plane, and the pilot seemed to be fighting for control.

It was also the first flight where I cried upon landing, and bowed with my hands in front of me the ancient Namaste prayer to the pilot, who stood beaming and astounded at the front of the plane as we filed out. He also looked about 16 years old, but that is a common midlife phenomenon, I find.

I was grateful, relieved, and could move on, somehow, into the week that awaited, and into time with my husband, who I was exceedingly glad to see, shaking though I was. And yes, my fear of turbulence has ratcheted up a few notches.

The next day I found out that an old friend, one afflicted with the constant inner turbulence of severe chronic depression had succumbed to that enemy within and had died. It was a shock, and a great sorrow, as these things always are, and then it was also a moment of truth, ugly as it was: the last years, when she had been particularly afflicted and hard to reach, well, I had not reached out. It was all too easy to let her slip away, to be someone else’s concern, to think I had no way into where she was.

In fact, her constant turbulence—utterly mysterious and virulent and immune to the best care and experts—scared me, as much as, or more than, any pitching plane. For while my plane landed safely, hers would land only briefly, and then she would be lost again. So I fled, in what I called busyness.

And for that, there is really no excuse. Jesus tells the disciples he will be with them always, though in a different form. Our call, in so many ways we have to work out with our consciences, is how and when and how much to be with the people in our lives, especially the ones who scare us. It’s not necessarily “always” we are called to, but I do think we are called to a form of steadfastness and presence.

I have some things to learn here. And may she finally rest in God’s peace.

Without guilt, but with honest reflection, ask yourself this coming week... who have I let drift away that I need to reach out to, make contact with?