it might have been my worst birthday yet.
a 4am wakeup call from a child who hasn’t slept well since we uprooted two years ago. a child with a stomach bug. another’s meltdown that involved screams so deep they felt existential (& maybe like mourning). a job that has always felt beyond my grasp, which sometimes feels exhilarating, but this week (month? year?) has felt like drowning.
we tried to keep it together for an evening of pizza & presents & then a dispute erupted (over sharpies & who signed their name to the presents where. sigh.) & the whole celebration exploded, ended prematurely with each of us in bed early, all in our own pool of tears.
but i woke up early with a clear word & a sigh of relief in the remembering.
it doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful.
a reminder to myself – as time slips & the lines around my eyes deepen & i settle into new, unfamiliar curves.
in this year – that has held so much upheaval, indecision, and loss.
in this job – that aims at the roots of injustice & poverty, & that requires fighting darkness.
& most especially with these kids – whose struggles hold mirrors, portraits whose gaze cannot be averted.
the sun comes up & we start again. there was sweetness in the second try – in the early morning celebration with coffee & gifts & handmade cards.
a reminder to myself – as time slips & the lines around my eyes deepen & i settle into new, unfamiliar curves.
in this year – that has held so much upheaval, indecision, and loss.
in this job – that aims at the roots of injustice & poverty, & that requires fighting darkness.
& most especially with these kids – whose struggles hold mirrors, portraits whose gaze cannot be averted.
the sun comes up & we start again. there was sweetness in the second try – in the early morning celebration with coffee & gifts & handmade cards.
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