It’s a hard thing, this putting words on feelings. Emotions run wild and deep and the grooves they carve out in our hearts sometimes ask to be hidden.
It’s pride, really.
This idea that I can hold it all together while holding my palms open to the heavens. That I can count gifts and open my soul to the Lord, but somehow stretch my hands out far enough in front of me to keep others at a safe distance.
And truth be told, the heart says what the heart wants to say. Sometimes, without any words.
I light candles and brew the coffee and he packs up my tribe of children.
“What can I do?” He stands there with his gym pants on and his bag slung over his shoulder, ready to escape before the women arrived.
“Please. Just leave. I need a moment.” I arrange plates and napkins and cue the video. The clock ticks and it’s quiet.
I hear the back door close and within minutes I hear the first knock at the front door. And then another and another.
Women file in and I hug necks and I silently pray that everyone knows someone. We sit in a lopsided circle and laugh and I feel the need to run my fingers through my hair.
I’m aware of time and the way it seems to stand still.
I smile and give a quick welcome and my heart cracks wide open.
I hold the book that I love in one hand and wipe rivers of tears with the other.
The book I want to write on every heart sitting around the room.
The book that has illuminated Christ to me.
And I am laid bare and laid low and my heart is spilled out…in tears of joy.