I heard a man pray for my family and I felt as if I could have listened to him for hours.
The pieces of my family need a lot of prayer right now. Hatred has fragmented us and we've splintered off to our respective corners, each of us feeling justified in the wounds we're licking.
I've lost track of time in the middle of the bitterness swirling around me.
Has it been a week since my mother was dry-heaving in sobs on the phone? Or was that 10 days? Or has it been 10 days since the last time I've spoken to one of my sisters and only a week since half of my family defriended me on Facebook?
There's a problem with bitterness and hatred, many problems. I've been told it's like taking poison and expecting the other person to die, yet you're the one withering in gross death from the inside out.
The beauty of bitterness is that there's an anecdote and hopefully soon we'll all be taking that medicine. Maybe not together, probably not synchronized, but perhaps free of hate, free of malice and able to live our lives uninhibited by our own weaknesses.
If you were to ask me how I'm doing, I would say I'm blessed by so many people, I love every member of my dysfunctional family, and I'm hopeful. I'm hopeful that one day, maybe sooner than later, we'll be put back together.
Without hope, what else is there?