Their movements grew more fluid as the night wore on. Their shoulders went slack, their words more loose and sharp, their laughter longer and less shrill, their smiles less contrived. I could sense the air changing in the room, though it took several minutes to understand what was happening around me.
For the first time, I was the minority.
Sitting in my kitchen, I was slightly out of place, not quite understanding their jokes or innuendos and laughing anyway. I was not left out or called out. I was just different. Most of the time, most of their energy is spent trying to appease my world. But for a few hours that night, I was allowed into theirs, and for a little while, they had nothing to hide, and no one to hide from.
Though we were all molded from the same red clay, our lives are no longer mirrors of one another, echoes of an unnamed emptiness. I look at them now and wonder at the God who is forming us all.
2 comments:
Red clay? figuratively speaking I hope.
I love the line, "Though we were all molded from the same red clay, our lives are no longer mirrors of one another, echoes of an unnamed emptiness." Sometimes I feel this way about my friends from home - people I still love but feel so distanced from. Even some of my family members. Even with the same "red clay" we have all taken such different paths. It is amazing the roads God leads us down. Beautifully written Steph.
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