Practicality tells me to sleep before writing this post. After a full week of traveling, I’m exhausted. When I get this tired my transparency meter flips out. Dangerous.

The other me argues this is a perfect time to write. When the veil is lowered and emotions are raw. We’ll see. I’m still not sure I’ll post it. For now, I write. Before oughts and shoulds extinguish the moment.

I finally opened the book that’s long been collecting dust on my dresser. Though it came recommended, I avoided it, only throwing it into my suitcase last week as an afterthought. I doubted I’d actually read it. Whether by chance or spiritual nudge, today I cracked the cover while sitting in seat 1C on my way home.

In the middle of the journey of our life
I came to my senses in a dark forest,
For I had lost the straight path.

Oh, how hard it is to tell what a dense, wild, and tangled wood this was,
The thought of which renews my fear!

~Dante, Inferno, as quoted in Chasing Francis by Ian Morgan Cron

I didn’t expect this book to breach a dam that left me teary for the rest of the day, just as I didn’t expect to be 37 years old with so many questions about the path my life and faith have taken. It’s supposed to get easier as you get older, right? But here I sit. With unknowns and mascara running in equal measure down my face.

I’ve only read the first chapter, and therefore cannot speak to entire book. But I can tell you this: Through expertly crafted fiction, Cron spoke through a character many questions I’ve attempted to give voice.

Ah, the power of a book. Though it’s embarrassing to cry in front of strangers, it’s worth it to feel so alive. My guess is that Chasing Francis will be dust free for the next week or two. I know I’m leaving some question marks unanswered, so maybe I’ll post as I go.

Huh. Guess that means I’m posting THIS ONE when I get home. Nice.