This post is part of a series telling a longer story. You can find yesterday's post I Am From White Also, But Not Only here. I asked in my group of writing friends, holy misfits in their own ways, would you please pray? Would you pray for me because I am knots and nerves and every bit that little girl who didn’t want the wrong answers to reveal she couldn’t explain herself. I had seen the link on a friend’s Facebook page for an Authors Retreat for People of Color. I was excited that my …
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For All Who Hurt with Nothing Left: A Grace Table Post
I was a week past deadline on this post. I sat at the keyboard for two days straight while fever swallowed up my hours and I mopped up my nose with a growing pile of tissues, gathering like soggy clouds in my wastebasket. And my fingers hovered over the keys. Backspace gobbled up my words faster than I could get them down and I must have started five or six posts before the letters trailed off and got stringy and anemic like my story was being siphoned off and stolen away. I wanted to blame it …
A Prayer for the Weary Ones
I spent the morning flat on my back in my bed, pain radiating from hip to shoulder and every movement worsened by the limbs of a small child pressed into my ribs. He had crept in sometime in the early morning hours when the world was still tucked gently under darkness like a warm comforter. I don’t know if it was a nightmare that spooked him but I lifted the blanket like an invitation and he scampered up my side and nestled in. Around 3 am, I heard the moaning, that deep guttural pain that …
