I cried...

...because I had no shoes. Until I met a man who had no feet.

Follow Lingling as She Gives Lymphoma a Beatdown

I don't know this family, but I am caught up in their story. Their words, expressing so much pain, so much hope, are enchanting. Like poetry. They don't mention God, or prayers...instead they ask for lovely thoughts, wishes, or even just a wink. It's a beautiful mess and when I engage myself in their story I feel like I am joining with the angels, looking down at this fragile group of humans, trying desperately to understand God's plan for them. And I don't want to experience this story alone. I don't want to treat them as a freak show, but I do want to be in awe with someone else, and to have the chance to process with someone else. Because...well, because maybe my own pain hasn't been completely processed. Maybe I need to be okay about the footless man's story in order to be okay with my own lack of shoes.

So, get a box of tissues and then click on the above link. Start with the first post and read through all the archives. (The blog was only started last month, so you'll get through them quickly.) Then read the letter to Lydia. And look at the pictures...and...well...you'll see.