For Better or For Worse

For Better or For Worse

The stage is set. Its 2:30am and my child is currently calm after her 2 hour night-waking escapade. I’m waiting in the living room to see if she will wake herself up again. I’m curled up under a blanket, warm and soft, and the world is quiet.

Then it comes, the warm feeling stretching up from the soles of my feet; This Holy ground transforming me from the ground up. I close my eyes and feel my feet in cool water as another wave sloshes past me. I smell the fresh sea breeze that fills my lungs with deeper breaths than I had known. I hear waves and gulls. I’m balling up my dress in my hands to keep the hem from being soaked, but as it pools around my shins I don’t seem to care when a gentle wave plays with it.

Then I hear a voice behind me that’s as sure as the rising sun and as familiar as Home.
“The surf is washing your feet.”

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The Pilgrimage of Children

The Pilgrimage of Children

My hand runs along the cool plaster wall as if picketing a fence, but my fingers find only the smooth curves of this ancient structure. Its coarse, sandpapery texture just begs to be touched. It sighs and breathes, a living thing, but very dead. It’s like it knows I’m here again, and thankful that I am. But its just a wall I remind myself, and nothing compared to where we’re heading. Still, maybe the life on the other side lends some of its liveliness to this mud and stone. Maybe it knows I’ve come again, maybe it’s beckoning me further still.
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