Reflection of Providence

Writing, for me, is cathartic. So, I tend to write on topics where I struggle, instead of my strengths. While old tapes can still play in my head, for the most part, I have a very good view of myself. I know my worth in God and my value in my friends and family’s lives. Yet, that horribly teased little girl full of brokenness and no self-worth still dwell within me. I hold her fragile frame in the palm of my hand, blowing life into thinned lungs, whispering: “Oh my love, you are the loveliest! Just wait, wait my dear, we are going to do beautiful things. Your life will be filled with people you love. You will be loved and feel loved. Don’t give up my child – hold on!” … I sat with the plate of cookies, placing one whole confection in my mouth at a time. The fevered relish of another binge was intoxicating. Inevitably, in the moments after I would feel loathsome and desperately attempt to separate soul from skin; shamefaced. This was a new development – binge eating. My sca

After the salt of a good cry scrubs away a bit of the sorrow one draws a deep breath that stutters and stops, as if lungs burned hot from spewing ache gage what the breath of life might do. Oh, the strength it takes to uncurl atrophied limbs, rolling shoulders, raising one’s head. The sun animates sinew and muscle, drawing growth from frozen sod. The weary sojourner fights eye contact. After all, the depth of soul found just behind irises, searching, can bring a grown man to his knees. Yet, those that choose to really search will find brokenness and healing in every eye they meet. Reflective, on how sharp edges are softened. Kindness is not a simple word. If we draw kindness in the lines of consideration – careful not to cause inconvenience or hurt to others - what depth of shoes would we walk in? Remembering, narrative in motion, moving pictures unfurling from life’s reel: The smell of wood smoke takes me back. I am all of eight years of age: chubby, skinny legged,