The tricky part of telling Grace’s story is the ocean of torrid waves still crashing violently inside my heart and memories. Oh, how I glory in looking back and feeling my heart swell with love, joy and blessing. My heart hums and purrs and expands with goodness until I think it will burst wide open and spill out nothing but glorious, radiant, warm light on everything and everyone. And then suddenly, the light of my soul is blocked by the tsunami wave of anger, loss and hurt. This wave hits me hard and runs through my unaware and innocent land. You know the scene. Couples are laughing and drinking coffee as kids play hide and seek outside. The music is softly playing as white flowers are arranged in perfect sparkling vases for the dinner party. And without warning the windows and walls disappear as gallons of water spill in turning everything upside down. Rupture. Fracture. Break. There is nothing but chaos everywhere, piercing sounds as wood, sheetrock and people bend and break. But, it’s not just water that is hurling down and choking you. It is all the debris of cars, logs, bicycles and furniture. It is life out of place, moving when it should not be, and shifting where it should not go. It is life being carried away by a force not its own and without consent. Every sound is different. Everywhere you look the scene before you is so outlandish it must be a dream. It has to be a dream. Make this nightmare stop! And I stand there, kneel there, bent over with nausea but oddly enough I am dry because all this chaos and turmoil is just inside of me. I look down and all around and everyone is walking and talking like nothing at all has happened. The tsunami that hit was inside my world and I begin to feel heavy in my chest like I know any second my weighted heart will burst and there will not be anything that ever comes from me ever again but dark and cold and endless night.
Thankfully, I do believe Grace’s story intertwined with my story is still in process. Intertwined. I love that word. Lives formed from the same Branch that mingled together long enough to unite, share, and get lost in one another. After a while you lose track of where one begins and the other ends. After all, it’s not really just a story I’m talking about but rather lives. And, I am thankful for others who have intertwined their life with mine. I think that is really what matters most. Everyone has a story. Everyone deals with their own personal tsunamis and left to myself, it would be a coin toss. Do I live in light and warmth or do I live in dark and cold? What will be the rest of my story? I believe the best story, the best life, is an intertwined life. The best life and celebrated ending are not written alone. But, rather, yields it pages to be written by the glorious intertwining pen of others.