Godspeed

Godspeed, sister, may the
constant God bless you and keep you
I always imagined Him like snow of perpetual melt, cuddling into the
corners of everything, soaking the dusts you’d
least expect Him to.

Godspeed, sister—I’m in no position to give advice, but maybe
I can offer lift.

Thank you, sister. Need I say what for?
Your conversation has been a balm for sore joints, a teaching,
your kindness an unexpected healing.
You’re cool, in all the unsaid aspects of the word… (can I say you help restore my faith in humanity? nah, that’s pretty cliché. but true.)

Enjoy yourself up there! I’m really pretty jealous—Godspeed as you tear after the things you truly love. Break from the well-worn trail. You, out of anyone, will do it…
and I have no doubt that God will be
speedy to use you with your (mad) skills to spread first seeds up there.

Keep in touch with your brother. When mine left, the words that have shorn through my chest most poignantly—
when I’m grappling with those terrible, skin-tearing times—
when I’m laughing to tears with closest friends—
wherever I stand—they are his simple words. “How are you?”, “Praying for you,”
“I love you”…
and so God speaks.

Keep up to speed with us back here
you know everyone misses you already.
Visit often and think of us often—no, that’s me being selfish…
focus on your work in the gentle direction of God’s nudging hand.
Godspeed and God’s peace as you make this transition.

And when things get rough…
it’s okay to doubt, fear, like claws in the chest. But I guess
God will be there anyway, and He’s already at that mountaintop with
that prime view of retrospect—He knows, and he’s simultaneously
sweating with you up the rock faces
(I guess that’s where omnipresence comes in handy)
guiding you to the place where you, too, can look back and say,
“There was a purpose.”
It’s hard to see, in the Drexel sidewalk grey, so
imagine Him, maybe:
rivulets in the soil.

Godspeed, sister.

-Isabella, 9/8/16

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