outcry heard around the globe:
for the love of Ghandi, GIVE IT A REST!!!!
It's me again.
Yeahhhhh. In the tub.
Some good soul searching
gets done in here.
I have a favor to ask...
Could you please feel the love breathing
in every line that follows?
Cool.
Stacey, an ambassador for all things
shabbily chic at A Sort of Fairytale
compelling the other day.
I realized one of the things I appreciate
about blogging and blog buddies
(blog buddies who by now received the memo to read with caution,
tenderness, and a voluminous glass of red)
is the opportunity
to be heard
and to confess,
(big time jealous of the confessional thing Catholics have)
since I will always
have more questions
than answers.
Today
I remain
contemplative,
humbled,
and deeply inspired
by
ideas of
brokenness,
mends,
and
healing.
While some may pass
on humble French grain sacks
like mine with so many
stains and mends,
as for me...
I see beauty in the mends.
I do.
The sacks can never be perfect again.
They are more vulnerable now,
and some of their strength is gone.
Some stains will linger.
Like scars whispering history or a story of injury.
But the beautiful mends!
Mends are proof
someone took time to
care for weak areas.
Perhaps that someone had no choice,
was too poor to do otherwise.
Could this blogger be projecting?
Is the pope Catholic?
Dude, so jealous you guys get a pope too.
Of course.
It's meeeeeeeee.
A complicated girl snapping
photos of herself in a tub with worn out linens.
OF COURSE I AM.
See...
some of us have wounds
painfully slow to heal.
*ohlord trust me...slowwwwww*
And I wonder if
we could make it easier,
much easier
on each other,
by helping a little
with the mends.
By
reminding ourselves
and
one another
of
our value...
in spite of the flaws
and because of the flaws.
photos by me ~ beautiful linens from DORSBIEN
Who knows?
Maybe we could
stitch together
a miracle.
