When a Writer is Lost For Words

Mother's Day 2013

I don't know what to say.

Your over-the-top, grace-full, raining-down-love response to last week's post has left me speechless.

What to say when you bare your not-enough-ness, words raw and strained, and the ones who read those words cup them gently close as with a broken winged bird and whisper love?

And so I will say the only thing I can, which of course cannot convey the way tears of gratitude coursed down my face as I read your notes of encouragement and "me, too" and offers to come and clean our grimy house (!!!) --

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

I said to a fellow grief blogger just a little while ago that writing here has saved my life twice over -- first with my eating disorder, and then with the continuing grief over Eve's death.  But that's not quite accurate.  Because really, blogging saves my life every time I sit down before the blank page and spill my innards out.  Every time I speak my truth, no matter its heft, my heart grows stronger and my steps straighter and my faith deeper.

And a lot of that is because of you, because of this community of friends who lift up and lift up and lift up when my spirit has gone weak.

Thank you for not turning away.  Thank you for entering in.

I cannot say it enough.  Your embracing of my words, my story, my life unfurling in this small corner of the world . . . it means everything.

Thank you.

* * * 

I'm honored to be participating in Sarah McCarten's 30 Things project today.  Follow me over to read the 30 things I'd like you to know . . .

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