I finally was able to coax my five year old to come along with me this year to honor the lives of our beautiful brothers and sisters that either experienced homelessness or were friends with someone that experienced homelessness. Every year I tear up during the service because I become overwhelmed with feeling, remembering something about the individual, maybe the laughter or pain they delt with on a day, through a minute, breathing through seconds of a struggle they shared with me. Or if I was unfamiliar with the name being read by the speaker, throwing out prayers to the people that were not seen, heard, felt, or taken time for. For the naked souls, in their realness, authentic spirits, raw, beautiful, eyes shining brightly and lines in their faces. Each candle representing the light that once was within their heat and story, of how they got to that place, where I met them, candidly exchanging, enchantment and sorrow, and sore feet through the laughter. Thankfully, I could share this with my child, the one who both mesmerizes me and makes the proudest mom, the kind soul that finds beauty in each person she sees. She made sure she told each person of their beauty, pointing out their light still flickering and visible, and loved, by those who dare to look, when they are not afraid of themselves. I am so thankful. What an amazing experience, I am blessed to be a part of this community and to the mother of my idol. 🙂