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March 23, 2012

I once saw
these knots
you call love…
tangled messes of need and desire and fear…
frayed strands of hope and vulnerability and laughter and gentle, quiet strength
as something to fix,
to untie
to straighten and soothe and smooth,
cutting off to equal lengths,
as though that would help me
understand and quantify and measure
the length and breadth and depth
of feeling.
But something shifted, something
something about the way
you looked into my eyes
and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear
and held my hand
and held my heart
on a quiet Sunday morning
made me realize
that my job is not to fix anything
my job is not to untangle anything
My job is to hold it,
Sacred and treasured,
just as it is, just as it was handed to me, entrusted to me.
My job is to see its beauty,
to recognize its light.
My job is to surrender my own tangled brokenness,
to hand it to you, unashamed,
uninhibited, and willing to find
all the secret ways and places
our sacred broken selves
fit perfectly together.

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