When I’m hurt I so often forget to pay attention to the little details that lead to healing. I miss the kind word of a friend, the sharing of wisdom when actively listening to the pain of another, a song, a bumper sticker or any number of other "signs" that become background noise in my daily routines. After reading my post about the effects of being brought up Catholic, I realized the chip on my shoulder may no longer feel like a boulder, but it hasn't become pebble sized either. I'm walking along a muddy ditch of resentment, angry that I keep getting my new shoes dirty. My days are spent trying to avoid the mud rather than crossing to the freshly swept, beautifully landscaped side of the street where mud does not exist.
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