This week is the release of Mother Letters: Sharing the Laugher, Joy, Struggles, and Hope. Today, I’m grateful to be sharing a little mother story at Ann Voskamp’s blog, A Holy Experience. I hope you’ll read along.
The sun set over the western bank of trees, long arms stretching across the waters of a tiny pond.
Welcome, they said.
Workweek over and itching to exercise his boyish spirit, Isaac called his best friend—Tippa, the black, wire-haired mutt—and reached for his fishing rod.
Down to the water glowing orange, the moss-covered banks. Down to his sanctuary, the place of catfish, crappie, and largemouth bass. It was his place of refuge, his honey hole.
Lure to line, knot tied, Isaac rested his rod against the fence post and turned to his tackle box. He reached for split shot, some pliers, perhaps some scissors. The rod listed, fell, flipping the lure forward, barbed hook finding its way into the paw of Isaac’s best friend.
Cue the ruckus.
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