no more than twelve

he was young
but eloquent
in his choice
of words –

thank you
for taking
the time
to speak with us,
to listen to us,
to acknowledge us.
you are a
very kind man.

in silence,
i stood there –
realizing that
i should be
the one
thanking him
for inviting me
into his life.

small moment number two

my wife will often ask me why i'm so cheerful in the morning. (well, not every morning, but some mornings.) and this morning i told her that it was simply the joy of the lord. (a bit of truth there. and a bit of sarcasm.) i then looked at her and said, "don't you have that joy?" shaking her head, she answered, "i do. just not right now."

small moment number two. (smiley face here.)

small moment number one

my youngest daughter has started a journal of "small moments" as part of a routine for her second grade class. it's a pretty sweet idea where you log tiny moments of impact – random moments of impact – with the idea that one day, you will revisit them and utilize them as the inspiration for longer writing assignments.

i've decided that i would like to participate in this simple practice. here is my first attempt.

small moment number one. i'm eating lunch at the dining room table with my two daughters. and as my youngest daughter and i are engaged in a very deep discussion about who received more corn than the other. i explain that even though i may have received more in my first serving than she did, in fact, she received more in her second serving than i. with proud and conspiring eyes, and a look of satisfaction on her face, she responded, "good." it was her moment of victory. a moment where she came out ahead. and although i want to ensure that i do everything i can to help her understand that winning isn't always everything, i recognized this moment of playfulness and chuckled in unison with my oldest. may i never grow tired of eating a meal around the table with my daughters. the magnificent munchkins.

small moment number one.

a room in rutshuru

i struggle
with the lock
on your door –
wiggling,
jiggling,
wondering why
i can’t convince you
to open –
fully capable
but still unable
when finally
we click.

you look old,
deteriorated,
used and
dirty.

and just as
my comfort
begins to feel
forsaken,
i realize
that what you offer
is better
than nine
out of ten
in this world.

humbled,
i comprehend that
i’ve just mistaken
the face
of wealth
for the face
of poverty.

power of touch

holding hands,
we walk the road
as friends.
we’ve only
just met,
and yet i feel
as though
i’ve known you
all my life.

habition

i've known for quite some time that i need to be writing again. writing as a means of expression. writing as an outlet. writing as a healthy means of exercise for the brain. the body. and the spirit. may tonight be the start of a habitual tradition. a habition.