Electric blue gleams when I pull down the green box door.
It’s addressed to me.
What on earth?
I recognize the return label.
I know her own heart has been aching lately, and she thinks of me?
I think about doing things like this.
But my hands don’t always follow my head or my heart.
“You know,” she writes, “some days just call for warm socks and chocolate, and I thought this might just be one of these days.”
She’s so right.
I’ve been thinking about this grumpy grief thing.
And how I’ve kind of been living grief upon grief of one sort or another for years.
I stare at the envelope design and note how seven circles seem to make a flower and how all the flowers connect to make the whole.
I stroke the shiny and pop some bubbles, crackle the wrap.
I think how we crack ourselves open in this online space.
Sometimes spill runny and other times pop bright.
Share our brokenness.
It seems safer here somehow–even in this land littered with unknowns.
We drink each other’s words and hearts and somehow He knits souls, weaves ragged edges into exquisite tapestries.
We know and are known.
And we lean into each other, wrap love around each other.
I shiver a little as I dig into the package because didn’t she, just today, write about socks?
About coming skin to skin into His presence?
Uncovered and vulnerable?
Bunions and chipped polish exposed?
(Okay, so I don’t know if SHE has bunions, but I’m pretty sure there’s no chipped polish.)
These are my kind of winter-season-grumpy-grief-pensive-heart kind of socks.
Tall and soft and fleecy.
I sink my feet into both and decide to wear pink.
I pour a cup of rubber-duck-steeped tea, savor a dark chocolate York pattie, and contemplate the sweetness of sock sisters.
And I give thanks for them.
Bonnie’s prompt today is “vulnerable love.”
Also joining Kimberly in community.
And gathering around Deb’s table.