"Do I matter? Did the hands that formed my existence do it intentionally? Was it purposed? Carefully crafted? If so, what was the point? Why are we so different, unique in our ways of loving and giving and living?"
Such questions stir our soul's deepest parts, with a faint flicker of hope that more waits to be discovered. This undercurrent longs to surface and capsize our lives in order to reorder them. It bubbles and gurgles and finally washes over us like an early morning wave against the rocks. and we let it. We surrender to it, because something in it wakes us up.

                                                                           From "Freefall to Fly" by REBEKAH LYONS

We've been away far from here, a place lost in the hills where water tumbling over rocks is the loudest sound and the only light at night spills down from the stars. In a place like that I feel small and questions about who I am and why I'm here overwhelm me. What if there are more days behind me than up ahead? What will be the sum of it all? Will it add up to anything worthwhile?

Walking home one day across the fields, just the two of us, with the leaves flying around he took my hand and told me how lucky we were. It stilled the wildness in me. The word "free" shares roots with the word "friend", someone beloved or held dear. I never feel more free than I do when I feel loved. The fear leaves me then and I feel I could do anything.

There was a picture in the room we were staying in. I didn't notice it until the last day. It was of a bird flying high above a cornfield in the bluest sky.