It’s a place I don’t often find myself. I can usually come up with words to fill a
space, whether it’s a blank page, a random conversation, a hard discussion, or the answer to a question. The gift of gab. Never meeting a stranger. It’s a rare occasion when no words span the chasm between what I want to say and what is heard. Sometimes there just aren’t words.
For a person who loves words, relies on them to paint pictures, convey thoughts, and drive ideas into reality, that’s some sour medicine to swallow. But it doesn’t always work out that way. In those moments, when words fail me, life gets very simple.
I love you.
I forgive you.
I look for encouragement in things that communicate volumes to me without a single word–a breath-taking sunset full of pink and orange, the small details in my kids’ faces that look like mine, the sound of a violin, laughter, a hug… a REAL one, not those granny kinds…
Those things say what I need to hear.
They don’t judge or give advice.
They don’t keep score.
They don’t say you should’ve known better.
They only promise love in the right now.
Whatever else happens, when there’s nowhere deeper to dig and one foot would step in front of the other if it knew which direction to take, sometimes finding the simplest love in the right now is all I need to hear even if I can’t say it.
Maybe I should be speechless more often.
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As I pulled away I had no idea that I would sleep in that sleeping bag and live out of that suitcase for years.