it’s strange to wake up in a world where tens of thousands are newly missing but my house looks its usual organized clutter and my children are all accounted for crunching cereal around the breakfast table, everything in its place.
shouldn’t we see evidence of anguish, even here?
but my coffee tastes like sorrow and our thoughts wear a blanket of stillness for so much loss and i cannot spare the world its suffering but we can hold out what comfort we know to a few families who (were it not for the shell shock) look every bit like ours.
God, show up, please. show up through us.
picking up with the gratitude list, #s 93-101
hope still a sack of potatoes purple optimism springing up as crocuses renewed potential of a court date each weekday morning friends who scaffold my heart truth spoken from a sunday pulpit m’s wiggly teeth God in us faces i love gathered late in our living room