This will be a short update this week.
I've been down with a bug of some sort and have coughed so many times that I think I pulled a stomach muscle. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened.
You know what they say about guys not making the best patients. I won't argue.
I've skipped all obligations this week, trying to get some rest. It has given me a chance to catch up on my reading. I'm halfway through Charles Martin's novel, Unwritten. As is the case with every other novel I've read by Martin, this work is doing something to me inside.
It's about an actress who needs to escape and a recluse who can help her do that. But for him to be successful, he has to give up his comfort, and probably his secrets, from what I can tell. I won't offer any spoilers. But I did want to share this excerpt:
"Story is the bandage of the broken. Sutures of the shattered. The tapestry upon which we write our lives. Upon which we lay the bodies of the dying and the about-to-come-to-life. And if it’s honest, true, hiding nothing, revealing all, then it is a raging river and those who ride it find they have something to give—that they are not yet empty."
These are the thoughts of the recluse, named Sunday, as he visits chronically ill children in a hospital and drops off books he has personally selected for them.
Words do what medicine cannot do, he thinks. They can infuse us with courage, challenge us to face the lies we tell ourselves, give us the strength to press on, and even make us feel less alone - maybe especially that.
So, this week, I've allowed words to do what medicine cannot do. And I'm thankful for them.
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Have a great weekend!