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I moved a university library this weekend. Not alone -- we hired a company that specializes in library relocations, plus a second firm to move our office belongings.

Our new library is glass and steel with wide views of an oak/hickory forest on the North and South. My office has a big picture window, a thin sheet of glass that separates the calm green of nature from the chaos of boxes and bins in my office.

As I boxed up 25 years of worklife, I found a notecard on my bulletin board, A Fairy Tale by Carlton A. Smith. For years, I have treasured the image of a mother and two daughters from the 19th century. Inside, a message to me was written in 1986 by a former employee, a sensitive and bright young woman with brown hair. She had moved to Durham alone right out of college, and her first job was in our library. She avoided speaking about family and rarely mentioned friends. If she grew lonely, she never said. She worked intensely with us for several months and then moved on.

22 years later, I read her card in my new office. As she speaks to me again, I sense her fragility with an ache in my heart. I search for her on the internet and find someone with the same name and of the proper age, who seems to be homeless and insane. I file the card away but am haunted by her memory.

Please say a prayer for my sweet and gentle friend.