The alliteration was on point throughout the book. I didn’t find any tired cliches and although there was nothing fantastical about the book, it ballooned my imagination. None of the animals spoke, neither were they made up, but I had a fun time imagining a piggie giving me and my daughter great big squeezes.
Husband and I lay, backs on the bed staring at the ceiling, no kids at home. Finally, time alone. How would we spend this time? Would it be as all the times before? Pretending we weren’t hurt? Hovering surface level?
Friends, I’m over at Alice Williams’s place with an Ode To The Broken Hearted. Come by.
In my tribe, I’m the left leaning, Jesus loving, tree hugging hippy-who-wears-a-bra, poet against systemic oppression friend. I stick out in my tribe but come hell or high-water, I can always run to and run for the fab three: Lonna, Kathleen, and Arlene.
Friends, as I type these words today, any person would say that there is no hope left for me. But, Praise be unto God that my life is not defined by my current situation.
…from deep down dig it out phrases – shrapnel caught in the ligaments of my new place, this new place I call grace.
And while I wait to be released from my own struggles, Still Waiting drives hope into my life. It takes me by the hand and says, me too. This is what it is to wait well.
These things mark a fresh willingness to seek out new beginnings. They are proof of an understanding that it’s not too late to change, to rediscover truth, to try something new.
This is how you find me/open hands, gathering/vestiges of paper-thin soul/visible deep creases/I used to be a paper crane.