It was early when I arrived. The doors weren’t even open yet, but I waited. I knew she would come soon. It is not many times that I beat the woman to her shop. She is usually there with her hair in a bun wrapped up in a net, smelling of yeast and sugar. I can barely stand the smell, but it is the food she has for me that I am waiting for. The crumbly hard shapes that fill my stomach and nourish me. It is not what I am used to, nor is it the way my story started. I once had a home, a place where I belonged. I was born there, I lived and was happy. The change happened so abruptly, as if it was a dream. One day I was beloved in a happy family, and the next I was a wandering soul enduring the heat and unknown. I am growing accustomed to my new life. It is not without peace, but it is just hard. Trying to find food, water, shelter and protection from the world. I used to have that, before that day, and I hope to find that again. Each new day is a victory, it means that I have survived to see another sunrise. It means that the memories of the goodness of life, have not been overshadowed by the pain. With each new sunrise comes the newest opportunity to be strong, to love and to show others that they can survive this life too.
She is here, and I am fed. Together we start a new day.
My husband has become obsessed with his camera, and had taken some pictures the other day in our small town. Someone wanted to know the story behind the pictures, so I jokingly started writing about the cat and how she had lost her home. By the time I was done though, I knew I was not writing about the cat any more. I was thinking about the headlines of the day, and the young woman who has been subjected to more than anyone should in a lifetime. I pray that her good memories, and her future are not overshadowed by this seasons pain. That she would find healing, and strength in her most important label, child of God.