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July 03, 2007

Dear friend,

I talked to you about anything except the obvious topic, and I'm sorry. It was selfish of me.
Your suffering seems worse than death. Your world went over the guardrail. Crashed. Lots of debris. But as you stand before me, you look put together. Like last time I saw you. The mess of scattered bits of your heart is invisible to me, and it is too easy for me to skirt the topic. Do you think it slipped my mind? Because it didn't.

Am I afraid to talk about real life? Or afraid whatever phrases I offer sound like platitudes, coming from someone whose life looks whole? How can flimsy human words seek to offer a resting place for a broken world? If I reminded you that the Lord holds the world--that He makes beauty out of brokenness--would you think that was trite too?

Truth is still worth telling.