Making space for my still raw stories to play and have a life –beyond me arranging for you what I think you should think of me – is a risk every single time, but, these days I’m taking it.
You know you’re in deep when you hear a voice crack so you midwife each other’s coming to grips. Holy truth, when offered, is an inexplicable gift. When I left her I knew we’d made something outside of ourselves that it would take two to carry. And that we would not drop it.
I don’t want to miss them anymore, the moments that comfort us with an otherworldly comfort that equips us to live changed for the sake of every other person in our lives. And for our own sakes.
Have you ever taken a picture of something knowing that your photo will never do it justice?
You shrug on the inside, take the shot despite this, and tell yourself when you look at it next, it’ll be an inside joke. It will have rusted to something nowhere near as lovely as it was.
Yeah, this was the opposite of that.
I just eavesdropped on a man reading a letter to his friend on a tiny little plane, where the act of listening in can hardly be seen as inappropriate. We are seat belted co-captives for the next two hours and ten minutes. I can’t see him, but his voice carries.
I love how a great story is called a yarn. Why? Because, as knitters know, yarn takes you where it wants to go, just like the best stories. Today I got to watch a woman’s face as she listened to a story on the phone. I couldn’t hear the other voice at all, but… Continue reading 31 days of frailty | YARN