(guest post by duane scott)
He’s not a tall boy, I notice, and so thin.
Almost sickly. His arms look like a boy half his age.
We’re in Canada at a boy’s retreat and my heart goes out to him so I look him square with empathy because I’m ready to hear his story, whatever it might be. Because there is healing in the telling, in the opening of one’s heart and mouth to give voice to the fears residing there.
Fear exposed is fear crippled, so he opened his mouth and began.
“It started a year ago... and it nearly ended one night in the emergency room five months after.”
Twenty boys sit quiet, listening.
“I have a twin brother. He’s the popular one. He’s more accomplished. Girls liked him better. I think my parents did too. And I hated him for it.” ...
(for the rest of this post, and a giveaway, please follow me to Duane Scott's place HERE. but first, won't you link up below? thank you friends.)
every wednesday and thursday, we gather together to celebrate redemption. here are the details:
1. link up a post (old or new) that you feel is 'broken' or 'imperfect' or somehow redemptive
2. put the 'imperfect prose' button at the bottom of your post, so others can find their way back here (see button code in right-hand column of my blog)
3. read other's prose, and encourage them!
won't you join us, here? in which we "walk each other home"? (ram dass)
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