The mail arrived.
And it wasn’t all ‘buy one get one free’ pizza offers.
A medium sized, innocuous looking envelope was among the pile on the doormat.
I didn’t know what it was.
Or who it was from.
But it didn’t look like junk mail.
So I saved it until last.
It’s a habit I have, every time I get mail.
Get the rubbish out of the way.
Consign it to the bin (there’s only so much pizza I can eat) and then move on.
Which, today, meant that I finally opened this:
I had worked a little on a couple of the stories found within the pages of this book.
And it was a privilege.
A massive one.
Here is real life.
Stories which opened my eyes to the world of addiction.
Stories of existing in the depths of despair.
Of horrors encountered there.
And the word ‘horrors’ does not cover it.
Stories that one moment made me smile, and, in the next, moved me to tears.
Stories of catching glimpses of hope in darkness.
And refusing to look away.
Stories of daring to believe.
Daring to believe that all the rubbish really can be taken away.
Really can be consigned to the bin.
Stories of having courage to work through difficult stuff.
And courage to move on.
Stories of learning that life does not have to be life-less.
Stories of finding faith.
Of reaching for a God who whispers into the fragments:
“Broken lives can be fixed, you know…”
If you’d like a copy of Fixed Lives, you can get one here.