Maybe you know, or maybe you don’t, but my cousin Sapphire died in August. She was in a coma for a week before she passed and those days were inflated with buoyant hope and gorged with sickening reports. She was 21 and in a car accident.
I wrote it all down in a story, but I don’t think I’ll share. It’s not my story to bare. But it is still this floating thing that keeps lodging in my throat. And somehow it seems like telling it out brings healing. Brings comfort. Or at the very least the comforting people arise.
There’s this pattern. This thread of life that weaves around gathering moments of meaning together. Gathering little shimmering splinters of my heart and laying them over a thick flannel of love. Like little stars. Like little pieces of something reflective of something greater just trying to get out. Like a felt board drama.
In Sunday school my grandma would dramatize Bible stories on her great big felt board. She would lay them all out the night before to be sure she had all the right pieces. If she was missing one, grandpa would go out to find it. Sometimes I wonder if she was just creating tasks to keep him occupied while she worked at her purpose. She had this purpose, this calling, this ministry. It was her life poured out. Poured out over and over like a goblet lifted “take this cup”. A gift of all she is to the hearts who accept it.
When times are troubling and sadness falls on our family I fall into the only true parts of myself. These words. That camera. This love. These people. We’re all part of the pattern. And as that shuttlecock screams across the threads, we’re all bound together.
And even when things don’t make sense. When the edges keep on fraying and the feelings wont seem to line up with the knowings… we’re all still here.