On Fitting Words

(Photo credit: Enuma Okoro)

I gather my “Thank You’s” with all their rough edges and push them deep into back pockets, trying to make it all fit.

Mama would cringe at these half-finished sentences.

I falter back with the weight of my words, phrases spilling out and splitting seams. I can’t contain them.

“You. Steadied. My. Ground. A. Little. More. Than. I. Expected…”

I lean forward and catch my balance. Some. Dig in my heels. Arms outstretched, I feel around for more words, syllables and sounds to embody…all this.  “I. Was. So. Afraid. Nothing. Would. Change…You. Changed. Everything…And. Now…”

I shake my head clear. Let thoughts drift and fall where they will a while.

So I can see it all laid out better.

So I can stack and pack gratitude for shipping.

I’m standing still now. Looking, sorting through, rearranging common words like “Yes” and “Open” and “Bisous”….so many “Kisses” in French and English.”

I shift and flip words like puzzle pieces, playing JEOPARDY with God.

finding new value in “Risk.” “Prayer.” “Trust.”

But it’s not a game to me.

This healing and renewing.

This letting go of old chapters, worn and trite.

This crafting and word-smithing of new life.

I trip back. Momentarily. I let God survey the scene

I wait teetering,

for his next move.

  • Elizabeth

    Just discovered your words, and read your book, and I am popping in to thank you for sharing them with another reluctant, but less poetic, pilgrim. (I wish that you and I and Bono and Madeleine L’Engle could go out for drinks, but I am shy, she is dead, he is busy and you are in Paris, so this message will have to suffice.) ;) Merci, merci, merci.