She Had Died At Age Twelve, And

He Had Handed His Daughter To Caroline Gill And That Act Had Led Him Here, Years Later, To This Girl In Motion Of Her Own, This Girl Who Had Decided Yes, A Brief Moment Of Release In The Back Of A Car, In The Room Of A Silent House, This Girl Who Had Stood Up Later, Adjusting Her Clothes, With Now Knowledge Of How That Moment Was Already Shaping Her Life.

He Could Hardly Imagine Anymore What His Life Would Be Without The Weight Of His Hidden Knowledge. He'd Come To Think Of It As A Kind Of Penance. It Was Self-destructive, He Could See That, But That Was The Way Things Were. People Smoked, They Jumped Out Of Airplanes, They Drank Too Much And Got Into Their Cars And Drove Without Seat Belts.

Then She Had Been A Fiancee, A Young Wife, And A Mother, And She Had Discovered That These Words Were Far Too Small Ever To Contain The Experience.

Its Impossible To Control The Reception Of Your Work - The Only Thing You Can Control Is The Experience Of Writing Itself, And The Work You Create.

The Challenges In This Place Are Real And Sometimes Very Difficult, But I've Learned To Slow Down And Look For Beauty In My Days, For The Mysteries And Blessings Woven Into Everything, Into The Very Words We Speak.