The space that remains

I have been so very quiet this week.

I was not prepared for how my heart would fold in upon itself after it had spread itself so wide open. It was the writing of My Broken Hallelujah piece that did it. After slowly and carefully pulling together the words to share that story I found myself needing to sit in the hushed space that remained.

For when one reaches deep into the vulnerable places, its as if a thread comes loose, dangling and exposed at the edge of the soul's fabric. And with each passing moment, that thread shakes in the wake of waters churned and is pulled a little further out of its seam.

And there is a slow unraveling.

So this week has been spent gathering up the gold colored filament that hems in my heart.
And slowly and with great measure,
I have wound
round
and
round.

And now Christmas is coming.

Oh how I wish to be caught up in that story again. The one that I never tire of hearing. The one that, despite knowing it backwards and forwards, never fails to alight on my heart space anew.

The one in which, once again, a baby's birth changes my world.

O come, o come Emmanuel.