Wednesday, September 30, 2009


She's perched on the top bunk. Her blue eyes roam the ceiling as if an answer were tucked between the wooden boards.

"Jane." She avoids my eyes. "Is there anything else you need to tell me?" I stare. My eyebrows form an impenetrable fortress. She's breathing in and out like a road racer. "Jane." I bark it out sharper than I expect.

She hugs the ladder and fidgets, all elbows. Then suddenly, like a pop-tent collapsing, she claps her hands, covers her eyes, and bursts into a whisper, "Dear God, please give me the strength to say it. Amen."

As I exhale, the room seems small. Even as she wrestles the truth out like a long splinter, inside I shrink down to the size of a penny. Courage unfolds and I am undone by a thimble-full of confession.


  1. No wonder we are told our faith needs to be like that of a child. Oh my.

  2. "...she wrestles the truth out like a long splinter" - wow! You're a great writer. Thanks for sharing with us!

  3. I love the picture in this post! What did you do to make it look like that?

  4. I can't remember!? I think I darkened it and added a slight blue overtone. I usually edit in Photoshop Elements, but have sort of learned by hook and by crook. :)

    Thanks for asking!

  5. Isaiah immediately laughed then said, "What'd she do?" smile. I just love the forthrightness of children. To possess their courage...

    To possess the wisdom to ask for courage when I'm lacking...