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| The conversations that happen at night... |
This past weekend, I drove down to Asheville, NC to a
retreat center where the last time I was there two years ago, I had a moment in a prayer garden that has left an imprint on me ever since.
Saturday night, I returned to the garden, my personal
garden of Gethsemane as I’ve coined it, and returned to the spot where I knelt
almost two years ago.
It was deep, in the darkest part of the thicket with just
the light of the moon and distant street lights revealing what was there.
I remembered it like I was just there. I knelt in the same spot where I knelt almost
two years ago. My thoughts were on Mimi,
the same Mimi I had cried about Senior year, the same Mimi I fell in love with
again, and for good reason, the same Mimi I want to find out if we can make it
work for good.
But my thoughts were on her because I was
frustrated. We had just talked the day
before, and she was telling me about teaching opportunities that came up that
sounded very promising. Insult to
injury, they were at schools I would love to be working at myself.
