he finds me in the kitchen, pulls me
from the arms of yet another frayed plan
that i have stitched together
the whole morning
unworrying the things behind my eyes
‘I am waiting for you, mom.’
leads me to his room
dinosaurs and bears on his bed, he takes one small speaker
of his music player
brushes my hair from my cheek, fills my left ear with music
curled up next to my legs, eyes closed
his face is a soft map, his right ear filled
with the same song
he shares with me the thing that gives him joy
he is love
— grace, in the hands of my son
© Liezel Graham 2021.
Image by Annie Spratt, on Unsplash.
Some days find me threading, and unthreading my past, my future, the knowing that grace means different things to different people, that sometimes I have to put my head down and just keep walking until I find the light, or until the light finds me.
And then there is this quiet gift that is my son, who is this soft hope, this quiet place in my life.
Sending love to anyone who is determined to stand up under their past, or their future.
You are loved, just as you are.
May someone come and sit next to you and share with you the thing that gives them joy.
And may you be found by the light.