cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I have shared pieces of this story before. The version where I am not the central character. The parts where I have yet to name the ways it sent me spiraling. How it upended my purposed life. It is the story I keep returning to. The one that becomes more clear as time passes.
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I sit between them, each silently working their laptop, manning conversations, tracking story details. Occasionally, the radio goes off, another cop comes in to grab coffee, the one at the desk collects intel online.
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I am in the miracle business. By which I mean to say, the kind that requires prayer and a whole lot of hope.
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We say there are exceptions. Not everything is black and white.
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