Stories lighten the journey. We must tell, and retell them to honour ourselves, each other, and our God.
Along the way, there are ideas to wrestle with, beliefs to form, and what we decide directs our daily steps.
Our journey is beautiful. Emotions colour our days, and dark nights contrast with sun-spangled mornings.
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See, little sister had pure white socks with a frill of lace that folded down neatly at the ankles. Mine were plain white, except the time in my fifth year when Mom couldn’t find white my size. Instead, she bought a pale lavender pair with sprigs of the tiniest rose buds ringing the top. Those Sunday socks delighted me. Unwittingly, they taught me something about the sacred.
Being part of a sub-culture, I’ve often taken much for granted. I see my grandparents several times a year. I sew my own clothes. I know how to change a diaper, scald peaches for canning, plant seeds in season, and sing both lead and…