Jammed Remembrance, Going Outward

Battling off tears as I read and process this beautiful, heartbreaking, and honest post by my friend Celinda. This so deeply reflects my own story– only Celly has put it into words more beautiful and life-giving than I could have!

Celinda Olive

(I wrote this post a few weeks ago, hence the mention of the month below.) 

It is April. For me, it is a season heavily soaked with memory, like a towel submerged in water and then hung without being wrung out.

I wrestled with my cumbersome white trash bag out to the dumpsters, a taught paper bag of glass and plastic in my other hand. I felt aged, as if someone were to watch me from behind, they would think I was old and frail trying to wade through decades of memory. I have a new respect for the elderly.

I also finished a book recently that struck me deeper than I expected it to. It was The Bride Collector by Ted Dekker. Having read his stuff since I was a teenager and having taken a break from his writing for a few years, I circled back to it when…

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