Thank You (Yes, You): A Love Letter


There are words that have been on my heart.  That I have been wanting to share with you.  Words that I don't quite know how to frame, so I will just dive in and let the breathe and be and be what they will.

Thank you.  Thank you (yes, you). 

Thank you for your love, for your caring.  For coming to this space and reading my story and letting it mingle in with yours.  We are painting a masterpiece with our lives, you and I and all of us.

Thank you for not turning away when things get uncomfortable or ugly or awkward or strange.

Thank you for letting me be me. 

Thank you for celebrating with me, and for mourning with me.  Thank you for recognizing how the two can coexist in the same moment.

Thank you for reaching out with words or a little token or the unspeakably profound gift of your listening heart when I have desperately needed to be reminded that there is goodness and hope in this world, enough to overcome the darkness. 

Thank you for entertaining my dreams, and my doubts.

Thank you for your grace, for letting me be flawed and ugly and wholly sinful at times.  Thank you for showing me the love of God. 

Thank you for not shying away from the hard questions and hard truths.

Thank you for asking, "How are you?" -- and meaning it.

Thank you for encouraging me as I draw and paint and fumble at the canvas, for helping me to press on at my art table when fear or perfectionism gather in.

Thank you for giving my art a home, for supporting my heart and my family in this sacred way.

Thank you for loving me, friends, even though I am awkward and emotionally gangly and always feel a little tongue-tied.   Thank you for coffee dates and laughter and walks and truth-telling.

Thank you for community formed in this unlikely online space.  Thank you for Facebook and Skype and Instagram and Twitter turned into holy places of God's healing.  

Thank you for sharing your story with me, and with others.  It is powerful and healing.  Don't ever stop telling it.

Thank you for still asking, one and a half years later this month, about Eve, about what it's like to have one child here and one not.  Thank you for not letting fear or discomfort stop you from saying her name, as I too often do.

Thank you for giving me space to speak, and space to be silent. 

Thank you for the many things I am forgetting to thank you for.  Thank you and thank you and thank you.

You are a gift.

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