Those eyes -
have taken in 30 years worth of beauty, 30 years of images that cannot be erased.
Those feet -
that have moved you through 30 years worth of moments, traveled you through ruin and grace.
Those hands -
that have picked 30 years worth of songs on that old guitar, 30 years of grasping hands with your ancestry, dirt through fingers of the land of who you are.
Those lips -
that have whispered 30 years of broken prayers and petitions, 30 years of hymns set to your own music pass by its gates.
That soul -
harbors in it 30 years of hard fought lessons. 30 years of betrayal, redemption, majesty, pain.
Those years -
30 in the making...have led you to this place. This moment. This man.
~ ~ ~
Today, I celebrate a man for whom I cannot express the depths of my love for.
Never has there been a person who feels so intricately woven into my very being than my brother.
Perhaps it is because from my first breath, he has stood over me, protecting.
Or perhaps it is because since my first step I raced to keep up with his gate.
Perhaps it is because of the secrets we shared tucked away on lazy afternoons of our childhood.
Perhaps it is because I still feel his hand warm in mine as we lowered our beacon of life into the ground.
Or perhaps from the adolescent competitions I tried desperately to win, to prove my worth.
Perhaps it's because as I clutched my first born son to my breast, we locked eyes and he knew my truth - I didn't know what the hell I was doing.
Perhaps it's because as my children's shadows grow long on summer sidewalks, I feel the sun beat on the crown of his and my hair, walking between the lake and cabin, spilling cat tail seeds into the wind.
Perhaps it is because he challenges me to find myself, picks me out of self doubt, striving to give room for the soul he unwaveringly believes to be strong and true.
Perhaps it's in the now, over a glass of wine and toasted french bread, when we share our own communion and whispered confessions that taste bitter and raw, the salt tears of redemption.
Perhaps it's how my arms feel right around his middle, with our backs turned, shoulders in, heads bent together to weather these life storms.
Perhaps it is all of this, and none of this, except that;
He is in my blood. My bones.