Just before she left to get her first tattoo, my daughter handed me a slip of paper and a pencil.
“Write “joy” for me?” she asked.
I took the pencil, scribbled out the word, handed it back with a smile. I knew she was getting the word placed along her collarbone and I thought she wanted a style sample for the artist to use. “Something like this,” she might say, and hand my scrap of writing over as they scrolled through pages of possible fonts.
But when she arrived back home excited and happy, I peeked under the plain white bandage on her chest and saw my own handwriting staring back at me...
I'm privileged to be sharing words at Misha's lovely new blog today. She's dedicating a lot of time and space to the scandal and offense of JOY and I'm so grateful she asked me to be a small part of it. You can read more here.