There we sat, settled in the warmth of the sand, shifting and moving to create a sitting place. We would be there a long time. Sifting the grains between our polished toes, we smiled. Too much time had passed, and we longed for the sharing of all things jagged and smooth.
What life had dealt through our multitude of moments begged to be released and somehow validated through the telling. Such is the case between friends.
Deep breaths……taking in the healing salt air and drawing comfort in the constant crashing of waves.
A vibrant reminder of life’s continual flowing in the midst of our being, our imperfect living.
SMOOTH things first…..laughter….joy…..blessings…..hearts growing.
Two hearts stretched to make room for the filling of celebrations, family moments and milestones.
Through these spilling of smooth moments, we are refreshed in the sharing, built up in the gifts life has given, all from a God who can only give good gifts.
We must remember these good gifts. We must remember this good God who stretches us through both the smooth and the jagged.
Deep sigh….it’s time.
Hidden, JAGGED places rise to the surface of our hearts,
anxiously bustling, in search of a destination which promises reasoning and perspective.
Emptying comes in the pouring out of words as our souls release
like a dam bursting its hard, strong walls.
Emotions build, and we find ourselves digging and swirling the sand through our fingers. Somehow distractions make the words easier to speak.
“This was not where I wanted to be, she speaks softly. How could I not have seen this coming?”
Taking responsibility not ours to bear is a quickening poison.
She cups her face with her sandy hands, and tears flow freely, washing over the hidden pain and revealing the open wounds of a marriage ripped and torn.
Her heart is broken and splintered, worn and weary.
The recounting…..so many words, so many jagged edges. My heart weeps at the telling. How does one deal with such brokenness?
I hold her, rock her. It is all I can do. It is all she needs in this vulnerable moment.
What was hidden is spilled out into the light with each deep sob.
She searches my eyes for answers.
How does one mend the dark holes and compromising cracks of the heart?
I want to steal her pain from her and heave it into the crashing waves, watch it tumble and split until the ugly thing no longer remains.
“What can I do? I know I can’t DO THIS anymore!” Her question lacks hope. Words of resolve come from a heart stained over time, no longer willing to remain.