Survivor/Storyteller
In my family of origin, as well as in my mother’s, children did not have rights, and we all suffered for want of them.
Not speaking was confirmed by crushing circumstances, brutal beatings, sexual abuse, and wholesale neglect.
Do not pick up the frail and fallen unless you must. Give them the dignity of rising in what strength they have.
This post is an attempt to set right a grievous wrong against an undeserved man.
A small stop to walk, to unfurl my limbs and to unclench my heart. Inviting the sound of the waves and the strength of the wind to sweep away some of the sorrow and leave the sweet.
“A (wrong) sum can be put right: but only by going back til you find the error and working it afresh from that point, never by simply going on. Evil can be undone, but it cannot ‘develop’ into good. Time does not heal it. The spell must be unwound, bit by bit, ‘with backward mutters of dissevering power.” – CS Lewis
The rains of ruin,
Eddy at my feet.
I clutch His.
Kiss them.
Dry them with unwound hair.
On days when I am drenched in the trench… when the rain of ruin runs freely through the guts and gutters of life, I ascribe to the gospel of “Do The Next Thing.”
Wash the sheets, feed the children, walk the dog, mop the floor.
There is much mercy in the mundane.
Love never stops wanting what is or what would have been best for the beloved… I love him deep.
Love is the only gift best given – when least deserved.
