A tent staked in the liminal space.
A home left behind in Jerusalem.
A mother waiting in the wilderness
For children to return.
A mother sent her worry and prayer and love
and The Mother made it enough to bring them home.
Sometimes bravery is nausea
And laying inside a rocking boat;
Knowing where you want to go,
but not where you are going.
The Mother sends the gentlest breeze to guide you.
The Mother stirs the fiercest waves to get you there faster.
Promise is another word for possibility.
Could it be possible the hole inside of you will cradle new life?
A home-shaped hole growing a new home-shaped heart?
The promised land.
