"When your heart breaks, sometimes it grows back crooked." Not sure where I heard that said, but I grabbed my journal and felt it rang true enough to write it down. As the ink bled into the fibers of the tattered page that was capturing it, the word 'crooked' took its' own course off the preassigned trail. I marveled at the audacity of the word that seemed to be alive with defiance. My journal wrapped itself around the idea and swallowed it whole. I tucked it away with it's cousins of gratitude and make believe. Quietly, I tip-toed out of the room and listened. I heard the pages arguing within themselves. I heard the creativity... the laughter... the irony... the joy. I heard the fear ... the grieving... the pain. I heard the tears shed on the pages turn liquid to life. And then I heard the Love. Love was powerful and intense, but rang gentle and sweet. It quieted all the idle chatter and brought forth peace and comfort. And Love sang beautifully. I reached for Love and He reached back. He said we had a mountain to climb ... that the journey would be hard.... that the weather would often change its' mind and that I might lose my footing. But together we would ascend .... And He promised not to let go...
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