For now, I’ll bring what I can to my own four walls. I recognize the purpose, the promise of this: a church is made by its space, by its practices.
SCHUYLERPeople have been washed away by less. I’ll take every step gently. So often, you can’t tell the rush of a riptide until you’re already at sea.
More Schuyler Quotes
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I sit on the bare floor, leave my palms unturned, and watch relief pool into one hand, and uncertainty in the next. I will try not to lean more one way or another, but let them hold each other as company.
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We’re in spring and I have learned how to be gentle and sharp; strong bark on budding trees. Hold out your hands. I’ll leave a pink kiss and a pocket knife.
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Your anger, your sorrow, your fear, are okay to feel through, no matter how big it feels now.
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Some mornings, I like to live like a secret; wake as quietly as I can, slip out of bed without so much as a wrinkle.
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I’m remembering again, how loneliness has always made me brave.
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I’m thinking about how early the spring flower buds rise up from the grass; just barely on winter’s heels. How uncomfortable, how cold the soil must be, still half-frosted, when the roots start to take shape.
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I will still live like a ghost in the mornings; walking, listening, pouring coffee to finish sometime by the afternoon, when I’ve had enough of watching the world and do all I can to live in it.
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I still know the fabric of where I begin and end.
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Meet me where happiness doesn’t feel like a false spring.
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Hold me here, where I feel less like a stranger to my own laughter. Where it’s easier to believe things happen for a reason or maybe, at least, out of a thousand winding roads my life might take, I will still find one that fits me.
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I’d get lost in this green, ferns leaning against the trees, soil stuck to my feet, never dream of finding my way back again.
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Take me back to the evergreen trees; to the sunlight through the leaves, the bending ferns and fronds. The pitter of the rain, the smooth rocks sleeping under moss. Take me back to the life I know before this body.
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I’m writing about moving again, and when I write about moving, I really mean beginning. I’m beginning again.
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I’ll craft a haven that that cradles every joy and sorrow, but doesn’t hold them to keep.
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Yes, this life is mine, but more often I watch it take place and my hands feel too far away to touch it.
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