Reading my blogroll at work might be a dangerous practice. Lately there have been too many posts that pierce my heart. Not sure if the piercing is from the pointedness of the posts, or the thinness of my heart skin.
Ann writes heartbreakingly of being abandoned in the jungle and being broken in your affluence and I can barely take it in. Her words dance past my walls and barriers, going straight for the softest places in my heart, never caring what my intellect wants to say to keep a safe distance.
And then another comments on this story, with her own chapter of heart-tearing, truth bearing reality and I wonder if I will ever be capable of such transparency. When I think I am full up and there is no more room to hear hearts crying or truth piercing, the wonderful encourager at Gypsy Momma weighs in about the beauty and power of being free to not be fine.