I haven’t felt sorry for myself in a long time. That doesn’t mean the mystery of my faith won’t send a lesson in humility.
Many weekend mornings I see a man and his son walk past my balcony. The father’s gait has softened… knees bending, shoulders slumping just a touch more with every season.
His son, handicapped and dependent, walks beside him, always just a half-step behind.
It’s clear this father has built his life around the care of that boy. His devotion has been his calling, maybe even his purpose, long before he ever understood it.
One day, sooner than later, his shift will end. When it does, I pray someone just as devoted will take the next shift.
Because that’s the quiet truth of life. We are all just taking turns keeping each other upright.
