Now, I find myself on the precipice of another loss, feeling that familiar guilt and shame for my grief.
When something painful wounds us, we need to handle it gently, taking care to assess and clean it out. But then healing needs to follow—hopefully with minimal scarring—but it definitely needs to happen.
Why am I talking about netball courts and awkward prepubescent interactions? Because now, in 2024, at 36 years of age, I still feel the same way.
I don’t believe God stops talking. I think He’s speaking right now. But the noise of life and the voices in our head get in the way, and His whisper goes unheard.
It’s ok, I think, to spend a few precious tears on yourself. It’s ok to do it dramatically on the floor, to show just how low things have physically gotten. God sees that too.
My city doesn’t have many climbing trees. And if you did start to climb, some strange person walking past with a small crowd of friends might call you down and invite themselves over for lunch after saving your soul.
I’m a bit of a snob. I like my coffee houses how I like my men: I stick with just the one.
Miss you a lot. Funny how we don’t say that over the phone. But there it is. There are a few people in my life who would give a kidney to be able to say that to their dad a couple more times. So I wanted to say it now.
It would be no exaggeration to say I haven’t truly been alone for a very long time. Since I was a young child, I've always craved companionship. In new situations, I would seek it out as soon as possible.