Battles of the hardest kindAre never fought by hand.They rage and fume inside the mind,And slay the inner man.Weapons that destroy a foeElicit fear and pain.More violent is internal warThat ravages the brain.

We try new things with open minds.Mistakes, they come and go.Attempting what we cannot doIs how we learn and grow.

Hush, hush.Hear the earth breathe.Watch the wildflowers bloom.Feel the calm of the silent dawn.Be still.

A father’s success does not depend upon his ability to work and provide, to guard and protect, or to lecture and discipline.A father’s success does not depend upon his ability to guide and govern, to instruct and demonstrate, or to remedy and repair.A father’s success does not depend upon his ability to understand and relate, to adapt and change, or to entertain and play.A father’s success does, however, greatly depend upon his ability to love and be loved.

My hands.Strong and callous.They are industrious.Grasping. Digging. Hauling. Shaping.My tools.

The handiest tools I ever gainedfor mending the worst of dayswere fashioned by my loving pa through his praying, faithful ways.

The sweetest melody that playson starry nights and wintry days,most soothing to my listening earsand calming to beleaguering fears,I call a symphony on air―the song of sweet, still silence rare.

I stumble and fall.I weep and struggle to rise.My mom feels it all.

Smile.Steel it.Keep steeling it.Laugh.Trill it.Keep trilling it.Love.Feel it.Keep feeling it.