Sleep Tight, Boys

It's been a head-hung-low, sort of day. Swimming through shame, and best laid plans, and failed ideals, and I walked into the group home and the boys were grouchy and pushing limits and I had to be careful not to get hit (again), and I balanced on that thin line of backbends and tippy-toes and we threw a meal together and our bodies into chairs and I stopped, for just a moment, to pray, so they could hear me thanking God for them, out loud, with their own ears, but I had to pray quick because they lose interest, even in love, and reach for the food. And they filled their plates to fill other aches, even while they complained, and stuffed their stomachs.

But there was this moment, oh, there was this beautiful moment, when one of the boys was telling us a story and all of us were laughing - heads bent, tears flowing, gasps of air- and for a moment, for fifteen seconds, maybe, we were a family and my heart was so full and I realized I had fallen in love with those boys and how, if I could, if somehow I could, I would lift my arms (because God lives in the sky), and I would let her love fill my fingers and arms and chest and body and God, God, how I would love those boys out of their scars and broken hearts and black nights and abandoned bodies into safety, into God, and I drove home tonight, crying, because they've been so hurt, and I've been so blessed to be given a piece of their lives to love.