Pursuing the poetical, paradoxical, metaphorical, lyrical, artistical, majestical, and mystical.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Seeded




Tess is ill. Again. Worse than any other time. The progression is scary. I went to Idaho to bring her  home a week and a half ago. She lays limp on her back day after day. We have a neurology appointment on the 22nd. It can't come soon enough. None of us are able to talk much about what's been going on. Advertising publicly seems indelicate. But we do need prayer sent our way. So I speak out. We also don't want to wear people out with the continuing saga. It is time to find answers and not quit until we do.

Meanwhile I'm learning to trust. More. I'm glad I know the one I pray to. I'm glad he goes to the father on our behalf. He cares for Tess more than anyone. I'm learning to notice things to be thankful for, on purpose, over and over again.

Gardening in the rain is possible. I am. I bury seeds and watch them rise up from the darkness. Reaching for light. It's a thin light, but it draws life. Nothing says hope like a small seed. Seeds need rain. Me too. Wash me. Wash all of me. Rain on me. Cry for me. Be our gardener. The gardener of our souls. Shield us. Shelter us. Plant our roots deep during this time. Twine us together, close.

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