My tongue is in my hand…

Right here

Posted on: March 18, 2009

I wrote this down yesterday. The paper is sitting on my counter, then my desk, waiting for me to do this with it. That’s why I wrote it down. So with no further thought on it, that’s what I’m doing.

I was walking on a soft gravel path. It’s at a newer park. It’s the small gravel that doesn’t trip you up, the kind that wouldn’t stick into your palms if you fell on it. And it’s rained recently, so it’s extra smushy as I make my way. It’s an easy path. It leads to a boardwalk that goes through the woods, by a creek and eventually leads you to a cement path that cuts between two hills and then brings you back to the gravel. It’s almost warm outside. I don’t have my ipod, so it’s just me and the thoughts in my head. And Him. We forget, but He’s always there. And when we talk, He listens. And when we listen, He talks.

I was walking, anxiously rubbing the the oval plastic thing that remotely locks/unlocks my car, thinking about a conversation I’ve been dying to and dreading to have.

You may not get the answers you’re seeking, but it’s okay to ask those questions.

For some reason, that felt good to hear. And I knew He was there, talking, so I nodded and kept running my fingers over the smooth plastic, kept walking, kept my sunglasses on my face to hide the tears in my eyes.

And that thing you want…that one thing you want the most…Not right now honey. It wouldn’t fit. It’s going to be a while.

My jaw tightens. But someday?


The tears are really stinging in my eyes now, my throat is tight, keeping down the sob. But can I…Can I at least have a taste sometimes? To keep me going?

Yes.Yes, you will.You do.

I stop for a while at an overlook of the muddy creek. I watch the trees reflecting in the water, I think about what it would look like if I could paint that. How I would show the ripples in the brown water as it bends the dark skinny trunks and branches, the white-blue sky…Following up on earlier thoughts, this comes:

And you’re right, there are human things you can’t save yourself from-shouldn’t try. Heartbreak, humiliation, you have to feel these things. You have to live every part of life. It’s what you do. Live, record living, interpret it, weave it. That’s yours above all.

I take comfort in that, that it’s mine. It hints at the sincere purpose I knew when I was much younger.

I start walking again, breathing harder as the path inclines and reaches the top of a hill that, looking back, seems less intense than it felt. I’m back on the gravel. There’s this bird, a large bird, wings spread, gliding over me and away. Another joins it, follows it.

And what about when it was just you and me? How was it?

It was good. I was great, actually.

Okay then.

Okay then.

Walking quiet now. I’m gathering these remembrances of before, before, before. When it was just us. The peace, the drive, the assurance…the broken,  heart wrenched prayers, petitions, the release, the high, the soul deep joy, the laughter, the creativity, the movement, the easy calm, the defiance, the leaving it all behind, the standing on the top of a mountain all alone, the strength, the certainty, the burn, the grace, the daily miracles, the everything you need…

Don’t you know you’re better broken? Don’t you see where you are because you’re broken?

Right here with you.

Right here with me.


4 Responses to "Right here"

Absolutely… beautiful.

Becca every time you write something new I come away from it emotionally wrenched and I DO NOT KNOW WHY. I loved the imagery, I hung on every single little word and when you said “Don’t you know you’re better when you’re broken?” I finally breathed out and I felt like those words took every facade inside me with them.

I want to take your blog posts and sew them together in one enormous cathartic quilt and wrap myself in them… I don’t even have any idea why, I’d feel like the whole world couldn’t get me in that quilt, like it would try and then the barrier of all the collective truth in your words would refuse it, and it would leave me alone with something more beautiful.


… thank you, so much… all over again.


Monsterbox directed me to your blog. He’s write. Your writing….I need to read it. The exact line that he highlighted, “don’t you know you’re better when you’re broken” is the exact one that I picked out as I was reading.

I’m broken….and you’re right, I’m better now that I’m broken. I still have those weak moments though when I need to be reminded of that.

Thanks for writing. Thanks for being out there.

Thank you Caleb. I love your description of the quilt of words and truth, because I feel like that’s what it is to me too, like if I just have the right words, I’m okay…

[…] took a walk and wrote about it, but didn’t write it on the calender […]

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