Our people

I’ve written so much about this year without writing about it at all.  I’m sorry about that.

This week, so much has come to a defining point for me.  There is so much this week that might have been.  I find myself, at every moment, choosing, again and again, God over myself.  That’s good.  It’s a good place for me to be.

“Grief is messy.”  Grief, at the core, makes me want to run.

We have been celebrating Christmas and all its joys this week with the town that we are currently visiting.  At first glance, it is almost sad.  We are longing for home.  This isn’t our town.  These aren’t our people.

But, if I’ve learned anything on our journey, I’ve learned that they are all our people.

I’ve learned, more than ever, that everyone has a story, and everyone is connected, and that we belong to each other.  People are good and kind, and too often, we cut ourselves off from each other in an effort to save face or be strong.

The more we travel, the more I sit back quietly and listen.  I listen hungrily to all of the voices around me.  Some I’ve come to know more intimately, some I’ve passed in the shop and will never see again.  But each has left a piece of themselves with me.

I sat in church last Sunday with our grandparents, in a chapel full of people I have never met.  I cried as I listened to them share their joys and their deep, deep sorrows, asking for one another’s prayers.


I think when we run away emotionally, we forget that we have each other.  We forget that we are connected and that we all hurt and that we all want to help.

That’s one thing I’ve learned from all of this.  One of the great healing gifts we have is each other.

I have been floored lately, as so many people have contacted me in some way to let me know that they have been reading in this space.  So, to each of you who have listened to me this year, thank you for being part of me.  Merry Christmas, my friends.

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