It feels strangely normal to be home. Life quickly falls back into a rhythm with people and a place you’re used to. Mount Carroll is such a safe haven. I know some will probably giggle at this because it’s like I’m only now realizing the small, secure, slow pace of the pueblito I’ve recounted countless country-bumpkin stories of. But it’s proven to be thee mejor lugar in which my little heart can heal, adjust and process. It’s all so gentle. If I don’t want to see anyone, I can hole up in this old brick house for three days and not leave. I can sit and stare out the window for an hour and only see two cars drive by and one woman with four dogs bustle past without feeling like I should be out there doing something. The streets and houses, my old running routes, where I find Jesus; it’s all familiar. And it’s slowly – oh so gently – easing me into this life again. It feels right (and it's where the coffeepot is always hot). ------------ I’m finding it difficult to answe
Just a young woman navigating the way of the world one prayer at a time.