A rug, a lamp, a father.

Something happens.  Something worth talking about.  We talk behind our backs.  Uncover what the rug has been hiding, then sweeping it under another piece of furniture.  We twist, we coil, we lie helplessly on our backs.  We walk away from each other until everything is so built up.  Out of necessity, we ask for someone else’s help.  Someone outside of the circle.  A stranger, perhaps.  They’ll hold the lamp to shine upon the bottles that have been filled to the neck with emotions, memories, hurt, and pain.

I can’t tell you what the future holds for you.  I can’t tell you what your relationship will look like in the next year.  I can only tell you that I’m praying.  I’m asking God to hold you in the palm of his hand.  Feel the love and protection of your Father.  He will guide you home.

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