Of love

I think that we take things for granted.

I don't think we do it on purpose.

I don't think we know,

that we take things for granted.

This morning, waking up early, for hours of reading and coffee drinking on the porch. A time to be, to myself.

I watch the boys run around. Some do their chores. Some are too busy chastising others to be concerned with their own chores. Some tuck their dress shirts into their pants, and they stand a little taller. They dust off each others shoulders and grab each other affectionately by the neck. Always in twos and threes. They frolic and giggle. There's always the exclamations of some hilarious occurrence, of some unsettled dispute.

On this morning, I watched them.

I watched them take care of each other.

Because they don't have anyone else.

Who has. Or who will.

And I think of home.

We are parents, we are children.

We are blessed.

We know that we are loved.

We didn't piece our families together.

We weren't found on the streets. Weren't abandoned by our mothers.

Our family is not 19 other children.

Thank God these boys are a family.

And thank God I will never know what that feels like.