This Time Last Year

This picture was taken last November by my friend, Michael. In the midst of a painful season of personal funk, I flew to Sacramento to visit Michael and his wife, Laura, two of my dearest friends.

I cried a lot that week.

Things were not okay.

But Laura and Michael loved on me like I was the most entertaining houseguest they'd ever had. They fed my soul with the beauty of art and music and nature. They listened but they also let me be quiet. Exhausted in body and in spirit, I slept afternoons and nights curled up under layers of handmade quilts. When I woke up, they served me food they'd prepared on pretty flowered plates.

I'm better now.

Much.

Feeling good these days, yet remembering back then.

My healing came at the hands of Laura and Michael, and many others who loved me when I wasn't very lovable, who forgave me when I wasn't such a good friend, who pursued me when I drew into myself.

There is a power in love that I don't understand. Love inspires the worst to become the best. It replaces lies with truth. It brings healing to ragged wounds.

I know this.

Having been loved from brokeness to wholeness, I am the proof.