Oh boy but this was a tricky night. Facing shame, guilt, and sinfulness. Grief. And then there was the wake, when we went deeper and allowed ourselves to be more authentic, more vulnerable.
One thing I have learned: help is much easier to give than it is to ask for.
And I came to look at my scars. And they hurt still. And they are not healed over. Like the tree I encountered this afternoon, there may be regrowth, but restoration cannot be complete. But what is left is something new, scarred and in its scarring, memorable. Then I looked at the tree more deeply, and I saw its cracks and fissures, its quirks and its misdemeanours, the damage that has been done to it and the little worlds inside its spaces. And I was mindful of a door to a new world, wherein we see purity, light, and downright organic disorder. The path to God is not easy. God is not easy. Love is so very easy, but we do not allow ourselves to love freely.
And I thanked the tree for carrying the scar for me – it is a tree that has been part of my most intimate life over several years – and then I caught myself in an
The tree carried my scar, marked my memories for me, and held me in its space. The tree allows me to see the love to which I am accountable.