Sleep Softly

It turned cold again today.  It was hard to get up.  The early morning sun was dimmed by a veil of wispy cirrus clouds high in the atmosphere.  An almost-full moon hung just above the western horizon.  All a little off and edgy and weary, we mumbled through breakfast and stumbled into the day.  

My eyes blurred almost as soon as I answered the phone.  "Mommy - what's wrong?" whispered the child from the other corner of the kitchen.  Silent prayers and wishes filled to the top, and I overflowed in tears.  

I didn't know this man all that well.  Maybe prayers connect people in incomprehensible ways.  Maybe this is all wrong - but maybe, just maybe, we can know some people pretty well through an undeniable kindness shining out from behind their eyes.  

It wasn't all that easy to draw many words from him.  You might not know him that way unless you'd known him over a span of many years. I did not. But if you were given the opportunity to see the violets, kept, not only alive, but beautiful, you might have had a little glimpse into the soul.  

Violets are difficult.  Finicky.  Even in the hardiest species, one misplaced drop of water on a leaf will cause it to wither and rot.  They need special soil, and they need it fairly often.  Violets must sit in a somewhat precise angle of light to thrive.  Jeff's violets were stunning. 

What is it about these quiet, gruff, guarded men - guarding something they hope to keep secret? A few of us may be on to these tender, kind, sometimes fragile hearts.  Maybe it's just because we know a few things about violets and we've lived long enough to know a little about fragility.  And we know that it takes a special kind of person to take on difficulty and fragility and to also possess the magic to make something beautiful of it.

I'm sure there's a lot more to Jeff.  I'm so glad I am honored to know, however little, the big, gruff, guarded guy, always in the black t-shirt.  And I'm so glad he shared his violets with me.

Sleep softly, kind friend.