I had a horrendous case of heartburn this morning coupled with lack of sleep, so we didn’t go to church.
But I stumbled across this beautiful poem/photography series from Ann of A Holy Experience and was nurtured by its beauty.
They hadn’t slept tangled under the same cotton for years —
she’d howled without a sound in the empty queen
in the spare for years, door and soul locked hard—
and when the ache had hollowed her all out,
Mama filled the nights with piecing
shorn threads together, thin, fragile stitches, needle piercing,
and I watched when she laid the last of the color patches
out on black sky….