I already knew from my own experience that memorizing poetry was doing a work on my interior spaces, but I haven’t tried especially hard to put language around what that work is. I have felt it and known its power, and I have returned time and again to seek out beautiful poetry, to commit the lines to memory, and to give them safekeeping in my heart.
I haven't written about writing letters in quite some time, but that doesn't mean I haven't been writing letters. While it's true that I don't correspond as frequently with others as I was doing a couple years back when I wrote a letter every single day for a year, I still have a collection of friends with whom my correspondence is solely through handwritten letters, back and forth, pen to paper, red flag to red flag.
To become more or different somehow is an act of grace, a testimony to the power of time to heal, a resounding "Yes" to the question of whether redemption is possible. My failures shine a spotlight on my successes, not the other way around. Because I've forgotten kindness toward the kids many times, and because that is something I'm working on remembering this year, it is noticeable to all when I speak tender, gracious words from a tender, gracious place in my heart.