….I was reading a book of poems by Emily Dickinson at the ballfield the other day. {Seriously. Do you know another nerd on the planet who reads Dickinson on the bleachers?) Anyway, I was struck by one in particular called, The Master. It reads:

He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,

Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow

Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool, —
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.

That day at the field, I was quite captured by how the poet describes the wooing of the Holy Spirit. I thought about how very much my experience mirrored the one she described and remembered fondly the day that thunderbolt struck my own soul.

That thunderbolt has struck again.

Except, this time, it wasn’t my own soul scalped, but that of my nine year old son. He has asked many questions over the past few months. They boiled hot, then cooled until last night in his room when he couldn’t resist any longer. He had the sweetest, purest confession and I couldn’t be prouder of him.

So needless to say, we are rejoicing! I do hope you will join us..:)

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