Keeping Commitments

You all know that writing has been a struggle for a long time.  In recent weeks, words have begun to flow again.  I’m moving some things here that I originally put on Facebook, so you may have seen them here.  The part of me that longs for quiet wants to write here not there but there is where the conversation seems to be these days.  We’ll see what happens . . .

To the Baby Crying in Church

Me too.

I hear your woeful cries of exhaustion and feelings you don’t understand. Yours is the only audible voice alongside the pray-er proclaiming goodness and victory.

And yours is the voice I choose to hear.

Weep

Cry

Voice the hurt and confusion — the longing for something beyond this moment.The longing for something more.

Today, sweet baby, you gave voice to my prayer. In your innocence and perfection and lack of understanding, you gave voice to the cry of my heart.

Not the silver tongued words of the pray-er. Not the fear of “out there.”

The honest, plaintive cries of a soul longing for something just out of reach.

To the baby crying in church: Thank you. Me too.

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