Together we sat. We chatted, and we each did our craft together. We talked of family, of life, of health and well-being. Of what it means to be able to look after ourselves, but also to look after others. We talked of those for whom there was a deep concern. We laughed. We swapped stories of all sorts. It is one story space. A sacred space. I know there are many other story spaces in our communities. |
Spaces where stories are shared. Hope, healing, dreams, despair are shared. Spaces where God works gently and carefully, transformatively in the lives of those who share their stories together. Spaces, where the ordinary has meaning, and the extraordinary kept in perspective. Spaces where old endings can be put aside, and new beginnings taken up. Spaces where young, old, wise and innocent, energetic and dependent, come side by side and inhabit a life space, a God space, a Spirit space together.
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I could not imagine the fear, the smoke, the fire, the sound of it, the heat, the wind, the turmoil. . . . .
But I stood in the place where the flames had raged over head and through. It was surreal . . . disconnecting almost, to be in the place where such a story had taken place. I know this is not the only story our world carries, nor is it the only place we can stand to touch history. I know though, that it does touch our souls, as our hands touch the story. |
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