the breath of Thursday

Written By TaraLeigh Inman

π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’šπ’”?? π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦π‘  π‘šπ‘Žπ‘˜π‘’ π‘šπ‘’ π‘ π‘šπ‘–π‘™π‘’-π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘€π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘™π‘‘ 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 π‘Ž 𝑏𝑖𝑑 π‘šπ‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘’ β„Žπ‘œπ‘π‘’-𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑, π‘Ž 𝑏𝑖𝑑 π‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ.

My grandfather convinced me I could accomplish more than I could imagine on a scorching Georgia July π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’š. It was our last conversation. I came home to North Carolina and he passed two months later before the leaves even fell. β €β €

𝐿𝑖𝑓𝑒 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘  π‘Ž π‘€π‘Žπ‘¦ π‘œπ‘“ π‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘›π‘”π‘–π‘›π‘” 𝑒𝑠 π‘ π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘ π‘’π‘  π‘™π‘–π‘˜π‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘-that π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’šπ’” had been where I learned what it looked like for a man to unabashedly walk with God. π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’šπ’” were the day he prepared his sermon notes next to a Bible that had worn thin and hung together by its own miracle.

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘¦ π‘€π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘“π‘œπ‘™π‘™π‘œπ‘€π‘’π‘‘ 𝑏𝑦 π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘™π‘¦ π‘ π‘’π‘›π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘ π‘’π‘  π‘œπ‘› π‘†π‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦π‘ .  I used to sneak behind a living room chair so I could see him praying over π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’š'𝒔 notes, frayed Bible open wide, and him knelt praying next to the other chair across the room. He embodied boldness enfleshed in humanity.

I was blessed to have seen a man live out his beliefs. He taught me the blessing of caring for others. He was real, he was human; but, he lived an honest life sharing the source of Hope.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 π‘‘π‘œ π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘˜, 𝑖𝑑 π‘‘π‘œπ‘œπ‘˜ π‘ƒπ‘Žπ‘π‘Žπ‘€ 𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿ π‘šπ‘’ π‘‘π‘œ 𝑠𝑒𝑒 π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 π‘‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ π‘»π’‰π’–π’“π’”π’…π’‚π’šπ’” β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ π‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘‘ π‘–π‘›π‘‘π‘œ π‘šπ‘’.

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TaraLeigh Inman https://taraleighinman.com
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