Little tiger

Titig was found, beat to a pulp, and laying in a gutter. Blood-stained and battered.

He was discovered by a French nun, and brought to Michael.

A nameless child slave, wearing t-shirt with a small tiger on it.

Now, 16 years old. Beautiful, healthy, and thriving at St. Joseph's home for boys.

It begs the question,

What have I overcome.

And why am I still complaining? 

To begin, to understand

How small we are.

And that in this littleness 

Lies strength.

And our identities. That we can try.

That we can start over every day.

God, I give myself up to you.

All that I am. 

And that is all that I have.

Which is enough. 

To my mother

You've never thought that you're very funny. But you make me laugh all the time.

And you don't consider yourself to be a very good friend. But you're my best friend.

You used to tell me, Elizabeth, your word is all you have. 

And I've always been too loose with my words. So I look up to you, as who I am capable of being. 

You're honest. And good. 

In fact, you're a remarkable person. And you inspire me. 

I'm so proud of who you are, and prouder still to be yours. Made and nurtured by you. 

I know you wanted to learn from your mother, and raise us differently in some respects, and I can tell you now, because I know I don't tell you enough. 

That I've never known you to be anything,

but mine.

My confidant and my ally. 

Kind and thoughtful. Considerate. Humble. Intentional. Talented. Faithful. Smart. Diligent. Funny. Loyal. Honest. and above all, full. 

Full of love. 

Happy Mother's Day, to my selfless and dear Momma.

 

Thank you for being you. 

We really are the very very best of friends. 

"You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens"

Eating

Passing the time without consumption.

The restaurants. The grocery stores. The coffee shops. The wine nights. The girls night out. The coffee gatherings. The dinner dates. After work beers. Happy hour. Wednesday night dinner. Cocktail parties. House parties. Dinner parties.

Filling us up.

Passing the time. 

With what? 

Eric

Love in action

I'm living a very solitary life, surrounded by people who love me.

And it's amazing. How actions express more than words.

And even among my friends here who can speak, across a language barrier,

Love still prevails as action.

Waking up, to have my coffee, out in the morning sun. It's six forty five. 

I prop my feet up against the railing and I try and gather myself. 

I feel a hand on my shoulder. Eric has pulled a chair up to sit beside me in silence. 

I reach out to hold his hand.