In the middle of full, right there at the center of many do this’s and that’s and don’t-forget-the-other-things, we remembered. Remembered to part the waters of busy and sit by each other’s side in the shade near the creek, to have late evening coffee with the warm rhubarb crisp that was drizzled with icy-cold cream, to loop arms together as we stood in threatening rain to watch our boys play.
The three boys and I, we celebrated this guy, and his birthday, and his life. We celebrated the fact that he’s ours, the man who watches and cares and loves, the man who guards us with his name. We were thankful for how he goes and does those things that provide, those dangerous things, the things that wake life right up in him and keep him on the threshold of epic adventure. He’s planted his feet in a broad place where he’s thrust the stakes of ethics, passion, and truth. His work becomes him.
This one is a good, good man.
