Good Times Better.

Standing by his mailbox, with a toothless grin is an older man holding a white bag, held shut with a clothespin.  It is near zero, windy and he stands unaffected, his smile is bright.

"Fresh bread, still warm," he says…"sorry about the bag, but it is all I had."

I take the bag and feel the warm bread.  "Wow, thanks so much, this is awesome.  I will make soup to go with this tonight.  Thanks again," I say… as we trade mail he shyly smiles…"made it this morning, just took it out of the oven," he says.  "It is warm, I can tell,…thanks I say again, I appreciate it."  We smile and wave and off I drive. 

Homemade bread smells fill the car.  

I am struck by emotions of gratitude mixed in with other emotions and heaving sobs come shortly there after.  

I see his place, daily.  He gives when he has so little and with such wonderful pleasure.

It wasn't so much his generousity and kindness that caught me off guard, but the lack of comforts he endures with kindness.

My melencholy was fueled by the book I was listening to, "Iron House" By John Hart.  A book of fiction, but one about two brothers who were raised in an orphanage and how they both came away from that experience.  How one who was highly sensitive didn't fair so well, while the other honed skills that made him street tough to survive.  They endured awful things…and grew to do awful things.

My emotions and feelings tumbled into how many are not able to find themselves in a life like mine.  How often the abused go on to live lives empty and hard.

I cried for the ones who can't make it back to solid ground…who get left in a dark place unable to find the light or an easy way to live…little children following the path that abuse started them on.

The book, the man, the bread, my life, all rolling around stirring up emotions…of gratitude that I didn't left in the place where abuse lives…and real sorrow for those who did.

Or maybe sorrow for those abused…knowing our lives are changed and some of us just never can change ourselves back.

And such gratitude that I was one of the rare few…who can turn themselves back around.  It is weird to feel gratitude for self and sorrow for another….accept kindness and generosity coming from a place of hardship…it made the bread richer.  Which I guess is the same in life…the hard times make the good times better.