The Peace Treaty
I was walking in the city, praying for you, for us. Regret, anger, shame clawed at my heart to the point that I had to physically put my hand over it and take a deep breath to try to control the pain. Echoes of my pastor telling me to feel the hard feelings and let them pass radiated in my head. I didn’t(don’t) want to feel them. I forced back tears threatening my mascara. As humid rain drops began to fall on my furry jacket, the open, nasty wound consumed me with its blood and grime. I felt every slash, every drop of blood, every crusty piece of slime that had failed at gluing the wound back together. And when I thought I could not take another sharp pierce to my heart, my soul white-washed everything. When the white cleared, a perfectly healed heart appeared where the painful wound once tore open. I opened my eyes to a lone dove perched on an old-fashioned lamp post. Peace.
We’re going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.