Tonight as I battle fatigue; lament on the insanity of my workplace; contemplate bills; budget for a run to the market; run a hot bath; pick warm soft house clothes to lounge in; browse on demand movies; and revel in my life choices and experiences; I am moved by an in depth understanding of “God bless the child, that’s got his own.”
As I fritter over the trite details of a life blessed by each approaching year; I am aware there is a man, woman, a child pulling the tattered fabric of a worn coat closer for a semblance of warmth.
A human without a home is huddled in a corner or hunched over a grate seeking heat of humanity through the storms of snow raining down on broken dreams and impoverished potential.
There is a soul disconnected from reality locked in insanitys unsanitary stench without benefit of medication; kept sole company by the voices sheltered inside their head.
I am aware that my ability, my agility to survive is a blessing.
I find spare change in purses and couches of my home, not in the pitiful downward glances of strangers dropping them into makeshift baskets and cups.
I spread blanket on down mattress, not cardboard on concrete.
Tonight I submit fully; acknowledging gratitude with humility while praying fervently for a safe journey for those in despair.