When I go for my morning walk today I get the biggest surprise. At the end of the dock, where the giant yacht used to be, where I never went and now that the space is empty and open I visit it every single day, there's a small, handpainted sign. Wait. There's another. And another. They are brightly colored, painted on small pieces of board and nailed sturdily to two by fours and then to the ends of the dock and all around the edges and then down the steps too.
They are encouragement signs.
One says THIS TOO SHALL PASS
One says JESUS SAVES but it has a winky face underneath it so it's mostly sarcastic.
One says WE DON'T SINK WE SWIM
COURAGE, DEAR HEART with a tiny hanging sign swinging below it that says BRAVE
And my favorite? DON'T LOOK BACK YOU'RE NOT GOING THAT WAY
And nailed all over the dock at random intervals are painted red hearts on small scraps of wood. Some are as big as my hand, others are the size of a thumbtack. It looks amazing. I wouldn't have seen them except that I tripped on one and almost fell off the edge, rescuing myself with a gasp and a newly cold sweat.
And every one of these signs is painted in an individual and unique style, one I know so well.
What do you think? Lochlan's waiting on the stairs, guilty as charged, with paint-stained hands and a bruised thumb from where he smashed it with the hammer. He's here every morning. Every time. He has far more faith than PJ in me, enough to let me go alone, but his eyes have bored holes in my back as I go. The wind whistles a tune straight through me now, and the faster I walk, the louder it plays.
They are encouragement signs.
One says THIS TOO SHALL PASS
One says JESUS SAVES but it has a winky face underneath it so it's mostly sarcastic.
One says WE DON'T SINK WE SWIM
COURAGE, DEAR HEART with a tiny hanging sign swinging below it that says BRAVE
And my favorite? DON'T LOOK BACK YOU'RE NOT GOING THAT WAY
And nailed all over the dock at random intervals are painted red hearts on small scraps of wood. Some are as big as my hand, others are the size of a thumbtack. It looks amazing. I wouldn't have seen them except that I tripped on one and almost fell off the edge, rescuing myself with a gasp and a newly cold sweat.
And every one of these signs is painted in an individual and unique style, one I know so well.
What do you think? Lochlan's waiting on the stairs, guilty as charged, with paint-stained hands and a bruised thumb from where he smashed it with the hammer. He's here every morning. Every time. He has far more faith than PJ in me, enough to let me go alone, but his eyes have bored holes in my back as I go. The wind whistles a tune straight through me now, and the faster I walk, the louder it plays.