Abbreviated Love Story: Heart Ponderings of the Year After

My second book was officially published on March 30, 2012 and I have had several awaiting friends and fans requesting copies. This book is a beautiful memento of love, the love I had for the man that stole my heart and took it with him to Heaven. The pictures are phenomenal, taken by two of the most passionate photographers I have had the pleasure of working with. The book is quite expensive to purchase as a coffee table, adult picture book, so I have significantly reduced prices for those who want to order from me. I am hoping that the other online bookstores and book distributors will sell it for a much more reasonable price than what the publisher is proposing. Really, I am praying that the book will reach whoever it is meant to, just like the last one because the writing of it was not about the money I could make off my own misery. If that's the case, there really no point in writing it. I would have much rather have kept my hurt to myself. But the point is that I want the world to know that while I know what it's like to be hurt, I also know what it's like to be healed. Beautiful words should never be expensive. Pictures of my life are a glimpse into my heart. The world me that keeps spinning without him is immersed in grace despite the pain that spins within it. I went to the Calvin College's Festival of Faith and Writing almost two weeks ago. It was not like other years - seemed a lot lonelier in the sense that there were fewer people of color in attendance and fewer presenters of diversity than in previous. I tried not to focus on how isolating it was being in a place that I love to be. Things felt so strange to me...and then, I sat in on Ann Voskamp's presentation. Tears streamed down face as she talked about the prophetic qualities that make poetry so different from traditional prose. When she talked about embracing grace and giving thanks as a way of life, a way of speaking prophetically poetic even when the heart is broken, I knew that this was why I had come. I needed someone to affirm for me the joy in life when the sadness in death is the background of my painting, the hidden themes of my poetry, the echo of the songs playing in my ear when words and pictures are no longer enough. There is always grace to be found and when it is found, it is ENOUGH. I tried to wipe the tears as quickly as they spilled from eyes. While I wiped at them, the salty wetness slipped over my fingers, refusing to absorb into my skin as if they had never been. The tears slipped between my fingers and finally I gave up. These grace tears would not be denied or hidden quality in the palm of my hands. They would drip down like rain. I thought of my book. I thought of the main character of the book - love personified in me, in him that is no longer here. And love leaked out of my eyes, not able to be contained. Tears streaming down. Breathing between the sighs. Sunshine at nighttime, moon peering at me through the curtains that shield the world out. Memories of what can never be. Pages that can only tell my story because he cannot write his part...an unfinished publication.