Words spill out here in this place that I call sacred.
I delete them as fast as they flash on the screen.
Feelings lie and truth is hard to shake out when your heart is a tangled mess.
I sit at the dining room table and Thad builds his fire and those boys track in leaves across my floor. Again.
My words are hot as they tumble out in rapid fire and they shake of nothing but sharp anger at the mess those boys have raked in.
My words lie because it’s not the leaves or the mess, it’s my own heart that’s tangled and those words cut to the quick and slip past my lips without a moment’s thought.
Two small boys are caught in the crossfire and it’s just leaves. Leaves.
When my heart is tangled and I feel like I’m kneeling before brittle sticks instead of the One who has spoken from a burning bush, I am laid low.
And to be laid low is to slip into silence.
For some words should only be whispered to the One who can speak, even from a pile of brittle sticks…