Your holy journey moves as real ones do through holes and squelchy-squirchy mud, across rain-soaked grass and solid ground.

You approach the crossing.

Another moment after another moment, another year after another year of determining.

You are here.

And this day, you’ve got another opportunity to walk into unknown — all determined hesitation and hesitant determination. Shivering, squinting to see.

You’re at that intersection again with the chance to cross. Go a new way before you plow straight into it again. You don’t really know what’s on the other side. Only that your journey’s brought you here.

And you must cross.

Sometimes you just want to keep staring at those old scuffed, shuffle feet and stay put. But you look up, and you see grace painted blue, gold, white, flesh-tones, and it all beckons you forward.

You reach for a hand that helps you feel safe and stronger, and you’re feeling no shame, knowing you need it.

You keep your eyes up and put one shoe in front of the other to that new place. You begin crossing.

Lifting a foot at a time, breathing as you go.

You take what comes. You do what you do, like only you.

I see you now — holding a hope and future in that little knapsack of yours.

You are brave.

This post is dedicated to my mama, who takes courageous steps today. She is brave. And to you — you’re brave, too.

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