The yellow-haired child awards me with smiles, but none change the shape of my face. The boy pats my back as I hold him, but I am not comforted. The drawings that normally amaze me, seem colorless. The silliness of Wisdom fails to shake me.
Though I am dutiful, I am only skin deep. Something aches inside. Something cries. I am lost because he has left me. And I do not know the way home.
So here I am. He bereaves me of speech and then asks of me songs. How do you sing without words? From whom do you seek help when God fights against you?
