Nineteen

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“Well, thank you for this. Now I’ve gotta go do life,” I joked, as I left counseling today.

I’m so thankful for every other Thursday at 9:30.

I’m thankful for the space to talk and listen and question and cry and ask and ponder and process and share and hear and be encouraged.

My pastors say that “Places Matter.” Like a lot of things that my pastors say, I didn’t quite get it at first. But then I visited my mom’s grave for the first time, earlier this year. I hadn’t let myself do it before, because I never really saw the point. Mom was cremated, but even if she hadn’t been, I knew that she wasn’t there. She couldn’t hear me if I talked to her. If I wanted to, I could “converse” with her anywhere. Why visit this place?

But then I did. And I got it. I got why places matter. Visiting her grave gave me a place to pause, to reflect, to cry, to mourn, to wish, to pray, to think, to remember. Everyday life is busy, hectic, distracted, and frantic at times. The place was important. The place did matter.

So too with counseling. Whether we meet at his house or in the law office or anywhere else, that time becomes a place of its own. It becomes a time set aside for just this all-important work. This soul-searching, redemptive, enlightening work.

And I’m so thankful for this place.

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