It’s not about the writing anymore. The communion, it took first place. The head hanging low, eyes closed in the early morning hours and the way you meet me here in the wrestling.
How you make sense of the thoughts that twist and turn like the wisteria covering that old tree in the church cemetery. The place we meandered with the camera this week to capture the beauty of death covered up in new life dripping from branches.
This writing journey it’s become like that. I die to security and a paycheck to pursue passion; you resurrect something in me I didn’t even know was there. Illuminate life in every crack, hole, particle, and speck like a baby seeing for the first time.
And the way you sit with me in stillness, in the creak of the walls, the tick of the clock, sprinklers spitting on my window. I didn’t expect writing to be like this. This place of holy communion and the gift you unwrap every day in the voices of community.
I didn’t know that a blog could be an altar where we kneel together, bend our hearts, and bleed words that transform lives.
I didn’t expect to dream about the voices I have only heard in words on a screen; to awaken in the dark hours to pray for someone I have never hugged or looked in the eyes.
I didn’t expect that you would answer my prayers for friendship this way.
I didn’t expect to think more than once about the woman who waits patient to adopt the child she longs for in Africa, or to stand courageous on behalf of the woman who fears to go there, or to hurt for the woman who suffers the weight of the not knowing, the grief of loss.
I didn’t expect my arms to be open like this. To wonder what it would be like to sit with her over tea, to laugh silly into the dark hours, to hug her little girl with the courageous eyes.
Oh, how I love to write but when I sit down to compose words like beads on a string, I find the true gift in the communion of the saints. And I want to thank you with everything that is in me, for helping me to find the fullness of joy in accepting what I don’t deserve, expect or earn. For helping me to see what gift really is.
Joining the beautiful community at Lisa-Jo’s place for Five Minute Friday, writing from the one word prompt: Gift. Come on over and join the fun!