wordlessness.

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Our wounds have been carried to healing shores and for this, all is a gift.

Wordlessness combats the never-ending drive to say something of use, and even at peak moments of delight, there is not much to say. Do you hear my heartsong?


This life is a gift of purification, even the darkest seasons show us the need to detach from non-surrendering convictions.


And how I fall to my knees now in deep thanks for all the things that keep resistance afloat so that it can be carried gently to loving lands. All what cut deep in hurt, so unjustifiably, made us realise that beneath it all is a fabric of truth were loved is weaved in through.


I look at all what I’ve never accepted, and it collapses, even dissolves in the light of God’s unrequited kindness.


I’m wordless and I see our wounds. The gift is the smallness that carries us to forgiveness.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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