I hardly recognize how often I do it. Hold my breath, wait for the feeling of fear to pass, worry to skitter through, even a feeling to take hold. Just how much of my day goes by, I wonder, pushing through to the next thing without expelling waiting air from my lungs?...
Air lingers heavy and cold. Steam curls from speaking lips. Branches stretch naked against deep night sky. Small chests rise and fall under snowman flannels. A small candle flickers in the quiet morning. This Advent season, I am holding with me space for this grace...
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