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Witnessing

Last night Gary came home from a school dance, curled up on my bed and cried.

From 2:00-3:00 am, I did nothing but hug him and rub his back. We didn't talk. I still don't know what caused the tears.

This morning I sit and wonder what it would be like to be him. For 16 years he had a plan to leave on a mission when he turned 18. A year ago that plan changed, and now a new plan has yet to emerge.

He's in the messy middle- Act 2 of the 3 Act play.

It's the time where we flail and struggle. It's dreadfully uncomfortable.

And if we are brave enough to stay and not run or numb-

It's the time where we witness what we're truly capable of.

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