· Our Stories

December 1, 2018

Breaking bread.

My dear friend was born on soil that is different from where she now stands. Her story is not mine to tell, but it inspires me every single day, perhaps more than she realizes.


We have spoken of the sorrows and beauties that come with being away from your mother land. I never say I understand, because I don't. However, somewhere in my spirit I supernaturally feel her conflict & rejoice in her inevitable resolution. Her story is not mine to own, but her emotions connect to my heart by way of sisterhood.


Today she invited me to try bread shipped to her from the little bakery in her hometown she remembers so fondly. I cried when I realized what she had called me over for. The honor and privilege I felt in that moment is not something I can put into words. A taste of the home she speaks of. A bite of the soil in which she was grown. "Its for your healing too", she tells me. I weep as I write this, overcome by her deep understanding of my heart. We shed liquid prayers together.


Her tears are not mine to cry, but our petition to heaven is silently spoken in unison.


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