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“Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.”

– David Foster Wallace

Father, there’s always that thing. That thing I think can be what I need in any given moment. It could be as simple as a new book I don’t need (I’ve got about forty in a growing queue), a drink for stress, or, in my darkest moments, isolation - a resolve to be alone from everyone, even you.

And I hear these stories in my office, "sitting on the floor" as Chantel calls it. Stories of all the different things being clung to in place of you. Things from the past, things in the now. Things that "got my head like Ahhh! I don't even know," like for Claribel. It's in these conversations that I learn about my own grip: a fear of being known; but not as you see me.

Fortunately it was here that you met me. Running from you was like running right into your arms, and instead of isolation you give a homecoming. Instead of seeing us as our worst selves you see us as your beloved children -- fully cherished, fully known beyond past and present, but in our complete essence.

I thank you Father for loosening my grip, for these words that release -- not just the person sharing, but me as well.



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