The Man in the Mirror
The mirror is kind. As I look, stare, examine the face looking back, it’s less me, and more someone else. Someone lovely and deserved of admiration, who lived a life of wonder and experience. The man and his essence, there, staring back at me.
He hurt. He laughed (that laugh). He lived truth and with magnitude; a life of burden and challenge; a life of disappointment and great heights; a life to live.
In my way, in these times perhaps, I have known more of his life than I realized.
To have braved the moments, terrifying and glorious. My terror, light, my glory, less but remnants, still, of his journey. No courage lacking. A spot, sweet, vulnerable, but never weak. I have survived this day and for that, he’d be honored.
This man and his brothers, perhaps his own brothers, the bravest and most honorable men. To take all and turn it into a hunt, a chore, a challenge, an expectation of and for me.
Passed on and not forgotten. The man, hauntingly, follows my every step. I’ll never be the man but I’m honored to have learned something of his character. I’m proud to carry his name and his favor.
The man glories in my struggles and my victory. No longer an issue for the man he wished I’d be and will become, God willing.
My debt, frankly, to him (alone) as I stare another morning into that lovely face.