my palms are rough and i don’t feel very brave, sobbing into them.

trent has hurt my feelings because we’re both tired, and there are four pairs of eyes watching and it’s too much sometimes. so i go to my room and sit on our feather tick and cry. ask God to fill me up with so much grace, there won’t be room for anger.

i didn’t feel brave this morning, either, stepping onto the deck to empty the garbage and finding birds, singing, and closing the door on boys, arguing, and just standing there. until a snotty nose pressed against the glass and pulled me in.

i doubt these boys feel brave, either, in this place filled with new sounds and colors, and even my laundry smells different than their mother’s.

and i doubt she feels brave, their mother, sending them off and asking for help this way, but she is. one of the bravest women i know, because bravery is leaning into love.

bravery is knowing you can’t do it, and believing someone else can, and asking them to.

it’s not about carrying yourself. maybe it’s about realizing you need something, like the song of the birds, or the help of friends, to get you through the day, but it’s not about helping yourself. it’s about humbling yourself.

“i’m afraid of everything,” joey tells me in the dark on his pillow. i put my hand on his head, like a covering.

“so am i,” i whisper.

because really, we’re all broken pottery. still intact, but barely.

yet if it weren’t for the cracks, like leonard cohen said, the light couldn’t get through.

(linking with dear lisa-jo today)