An occasion for wondering what it feels like to believe. – Lia Purpura

I see it just there as a I turn to grab the Tupperware container that used to hold Mom’s self-rising flour and now stores Meander’s kibble.  A glint. A shimmer. A . . . there isn’t quite the right word behind my tongue.  IMG_0180

The prism on the bottom of the wind chime from my grandparent’s house. The one that wasn’t attached there when the chime was first tied together. The one Grandma added? Someone else who gave it to her?

The way things accrue and gather story takes my breath.

To my right, here in this office carved from a foyer, a bulletin board tagged with flowers a man once handed me at a wedding on a sad, hard day, my friend’s aunt on a donkey, a painting raked with green from another friend, a rhyming pair of poems from P, Dad and I here at the farm when my head was still shaved and the grass as high as my waist.

I have scorched my antique desk with a candle burnt through; I cover the bubbled ring with two pens – each made by a friend. Beside them, the lamp Mom and I bought at Pier 1 when I had my first apartment – bulbless and still shining.

Stories left unspoken.

Much for which to be thankful. Much for which to build story. Belief. Truth and lie. Life.

Around you, what stories rest in objects?

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Today is the final day to get my book God’s Whisper Manifesto for FREE.  I’d love for you to get a copy for yourself. And if you’d like to keep up with the stories we’re building here on the farm, check out our God’s Whisper Farm blog.