I would shower the world with words. I would sing them from the rooftops in Orvieto where my laundry would fly in the harsh morning light. I would whisper them into the coffee cups piled in my sink, those silent witnesses of love and laughter. I would shout LOVE across the Quad to the girls I don't know but I see walking dejectedly back to their dorms, burdened with work, with questions, with hope and desperation and doubt.
I would coax words out of my heart and out of other people's. I would write stories that used luminescence and dazzle and flame as though they were the best words in the world and I couldn't wait to share them with someone.
I would pray the prayers that I don't let myself pray. The big ones full of hope and full of child certainty, the prayers that tell God I know who He is and what He can do. The prayers that ask for total healing and redemption and look into the face of the Healer, the Peacemaker, the Storm-Calmer, so sure that He is who He is that I ask the big box of prayers for the world. I would pray to become full of His love. I would pray to overflow with it. To be spent with it. To be exhausted from loving.
I would sing from the rooftops and I would laugh so hard that I doubled over and I would lift both hands to the sky in the kind of reckless gratitude that just might awaken my heart.