now joining emily for imperfect prose:
there are days when the wind pulls and harrows, so that mid-week i weave along pock-marked and bare, all that tenuous courage heaped in pieces at my feet.
but i wake-shower-coffee myself to wednesday morning moms meeting, half surprised to get there intact. and i scoot in sheepish with the knowing that all i bring is fissured prayer and faith in a God who hears, a God who responds with the cross while i’m after an answer quicker, tamer, prettier.
and it’s a marvel, what a couple hours with those grown-up girls can sprout in me. without exception, somewhere in the middle of tea and mothering stories and a crack in a praying voice, a fresh sprig of courage wends up and buoys me even here, in this wash of fragmented plans.
i’m well versed in the full-throttle joy of brothers, but i look around the room at crystal and amy and carrie and think that this? is maybe what it means to know sisters.