Thursday, 4 December 2014


In the dim morning light stretching its way above The Atlantic beneath my window, a now calmed wind whispers. I lean in to catch a few phrases. And one word sighs. The word is, "Joy." How is it possible, I have asked myself a million and more times, that joy continues to be the voice of the wind, even on tepid and tired days, just as it is on fired and fulminating days? How is it that after suffocating loss, grief, and longing, after the crimes we have committed and the crimes committed against us, that we can lean in to the wind, and hear the whisper of: Joy? Sawbonna is at least one of the reasons. Sawbonna and justness as both a lived and living experience, invite joy. Joy, that undeniable sibling of hope, akin to Jurgen Moltmann's, Theology of Hope, is a generous and a gentle reminder that not only are we loving and loved, but that we can breathe the beauty that is hope. Hope contoured in the fact that we can choose to share in and to shape Sawbonna and Restorative Justice's contouring crucible of words: Respect. Responsibility. Relationship. And, Wonder. The wind whispers Sawbonna. And hope speaks joy.

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