“There is still a plan,” I hope…I pray. On this Palm Sunday I share with you this post I found to be such a comfort, this week. Our stories–whatever they might be–are, as Allison K. Williams writes, “our valuable labor.” Stories, yours and mine, are also a comfort. This morning, my kids and I shared in the story of Christ’s Passion through virtual Mass over Facebook. It was weird, but the familiar words, along with the priest’s vestments of red, his blessing of spring green palms, were a rote and ritualistic balm. That’s the Church’s labor–its chopping of wood, its carrying of water. Whatever your story or labor, I hope you share it with someone today. I thank Allison K. Williams, Brevity’s Social Media Editor and a wonderful memoirist, essayist, editor, and coach for sharing hers. I encourage you to check out Brevity’s Nonfiction Blog, and Allison’s other work at idowords.net. Be well! ~Rebecca
We woke up and everything had been different for some time now. Maybe we finally slept through the night. Or embraced waking up early, wired without caffeine. Maybe the bleak haze had become familiar, waiting for something to feel like feeling again. Maybe a call came—your friend is dying. Or, I think we should take a break. Or a text, WE WOULD LIKE TO INFORM YOU THAT PUBLIC MOVEMENT RESTRICTION HAS BEEN IMPOSED.
Maybe we woke to the memory of weeks ago, some faraway country tracking their citizens, an alarmist friend stockpiling taco mix, our partner still warm-eyed and cuddly. All we want is to go back to sleep, back in time, to the moment before the pandemic, the break-up, that moment of sweet unknowing, when everything was still OK.
How can we write? How can we read?
How can we possibly address the page with our life, or…
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