It is a dangerous thing to give your heart away to someone you have only just met. Like most people, I learned that the hard way. Protecting your heart is a survival skill you learn as you grow and I am particularly bad at it. I think it has something to do with being too trusting or expecting everyone to be good, or maybe it comes from being the baby in the family, I don’t know. Over time, I have learned to study folks first before I hand them my heart and even that is no guarantee. But the cold winter morning that I plopped down opposite Becca Stevens, I had her my heart with one hand and a hot mug of coffee in the other. I saw safety in her eyes when I looked up at her. I saw wisdom and experience and I just handed it right over.
Becca wasn’t to know that I’d had a rough morning or that I’d had a rough few weeks, trying to start a new life with a new job in a new town in with few friends other than the books that filled my house. She didn’t know my story. And I didn’t know hers. But I wasn’t there to tell my story. I was there to talk about a book idea, and trying to choke back tears and act professional, I slapped on a smile as I walked through the door to meet this reverend with a cause. It took all of six seconds to unwrap my winter layers and my heart, take a deep breath, and make eye contact. Suddenly, the slapped-on smile wasn’t necessary and I was safe. I knew that the instant I met her and I know it as I type this blog.
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