A Twenty-Year-Old’s Testimony

It’s 11:45 AM and I’m handing someone his coffee.

He, of course, doesn’t know I have been on this earth two decades as of today. He doesn’t know that my mother endured the worst to give me the best twenty years ago today. He also doesn’t know that my father sliced his thumb open while working in the yard twenty years ago today, no doubt in an effort to upstage the action. (Not surprising, then, that twenty years later, their blossoming child has found her power on the stage.)

I narrowly escaped grade school only to find teachers and lessons all around me …

I saw my parents this morning, I will see my friends this evening, and I am seeing acquaintances this afternoon-something beautiful in every tense.

Those that know my heart will continue to sustain it and those that do not will continue to fascinate it.

Any success I’ve had has come from others’ selflessness and every failure has come from my inability to see that.

It’s due to be 84 degrees and stormy today so that I can fully love the sun tomorrow.

Everything I delight in has occurred today just for me and everything I do not is simply meeting a weekly quota.

I have developed a heart from my first ten years of life and a brain for my second; I will love the faces that have given me both until I have neither.

It’s 11:45 AM and I’m handing someone his coffee. He will smell it, taste it, and enjoy it, and I should think there is no greater gift on a birthday than to play a part in that.

It’s 11:45 AM. Promises to be a good day.

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