“May our stories catch fire, and burn bright enough to catch God’s eye…”

I’ve written before of mom’s love for her birthday, commenting that she’s one of the only people I know who actually noted it in her own calendar:



As much as I hate it, I find it fitting that she’s celebrating this milestone, her 60th, in heaven, because we never could have made it big enough or bright enough down here…

In The Embers – Sleeping At Last

We live and we die
Like fireworks
Our legacies hide

In the embers
May our stories catch fire
And burn bright enough
To catch God’s eye

We live and we die

Like fireworks
We pull apart the dark
Compete against the stars
With all of our hearts
Till our temporary brilliance turns to ash
We pull apart the darkness while we can

May we live and we die
A valorous life
May we write it all down
In cursive light
So we pray we were made
In the image of a figure eight

May we live and die

Like fireworks
We pull apart the dark
Compete against the stars
With all of our hearts
Till our temporary brilliance turns to ash

We pull apart the darkness while we can



Happy birthday, mom. 

(P.S. You were right. You’re gone, and I miss you. My teenage self apologizes for not taking your word on that one.)