I got bent in the heat today. Someone with clumsy hands twisted the wrong way and I have lost my shape. But the heat isn't over and I'll be straight again before we're cool. I just don't know when that will be. (When you are honest with me. When will that be?)

:: till we have faces ::

Wondering at the wonder of words, how CS Lewis has become my mentor these last hours. How I, mortal, can see for a moment the stamp of the deity in whose image I am made. I feel like a god in this realm, given earth to subdue. How the animals and rivers and skies must wonder when I walk crest-fallen, I who am placed far above these in both value and authority. A tree cannot cut me down, a river cannot ford me, skies cannot hold me.

And I wish in this moment that the books written in my mind could be transcribed on an unfurling scroll. I live lives there. This is just a postcard, not the journey. I wish I could take you with me.

:: tonight ::

There was much twirling and laughing, skipping through yellow-lighted hallways. There was music and dancing. It was a party.

For Ellise, it was just another day.

:: a little bit bruised ::

He stopped by just to give me a flower and a piece of chocolate. He, years younger than me, with no ulterior motives other than to make a girl smile.

And I cried a little, just a little, at how much an orange flower, hand-picked, could pick up my shrunken heart and make it feel like maybe, just maybe, this is how it's supposed to feel.

:: ram in the thicket ::

Animists live in fear of the spirit world, but do their best to appease their heartless gods. They also try to fool them, giving broken offerings and trinkets instead of treasures. I remember watching animistic funeral processions, caskets laden with broken cassette players and worn-out clothing; after all, how will the dead know any difference?

I think I do the same with God. I tend to hoist things on the altar that don't matter much to me. Take this minor item and I'll even throw in a pointless hour or two of selfish service.

But God is not dead or blind like the gods of the broken cassette players. He wants me to give a sacrifice of my first-fruits, my Isaac.

So with trembling hands I placed mine on the altar. With much negotiation and bargaining but with obedience I left it there, ready to do what I needed to: kill it.

And at the very last moment, after goodbyes were over, I spotted the ram in the thicket.

:: making grown men cry ::

It has always been amazing to me that words can be expressed in so many dimensions, on flat pieces of paper or in sound surrounding our living rooms. That they can then be carried to other places, our thoughts, transmitted across continents, shared with friends. I love words. I love their role in explaining life.

But they are limited. I remembered this when I sat down to write today. I wanted to describe a tear, the little trickle that ran down a crease by his nose. I almost missed it through my own but there it was, shouting without the help of words that I matter. I felt the full weight of that absence of words. I matter.

Thank you for the things you did and didn't say today. Thank you.