Yesterday, she sat on the couch and sang, “He is the song for the suffewing…”
Tonight, I had to face my hurt in an unexpected way. It was supposed to be an evening of redemption, but instead, my past hugged me. Literally.
What are we supposed to do?
What if a place you love no longer feels safe? Where do you go?
Oh, little girl, that I could sit on the couch full of happiness like you are. You haven’t learned yet that there are people you can’t trust. You are loved. You’re not having to sift truth and lies, thank God.
Yet what you sang yesterday is still true, even if you really have no concept of what the words mean. He IS the song for the suffering. May I remember it.
Somewhere, there is a song. A beautiful song. Can I find it this Christmas?
Twenty-something 