He reminds me of many young men I have met...

 
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Dear Anonymous,

He reminds me of many young men I have met. Handsome. Young. So young. Stories of lives detoured by drugs. Colleges left. Classes abandoned. Families distanced. The siren of heroin. The mistress who will not be refused easily. It may not be his exact story but some of the refrains are so familiar. The despondency cloaked as survival skill.

He shows me he still has the mask he requested from me last week. Tucked away safely in his pocket. To use on the bus. He shows me.

So many young men. And women. Derailed. I am fortunate, blessed really, to know many that have flourished in recovery. And their about-faces hold me in these moments. Not that I insist it should be any different than it is, but that it CAN be.
Maybe there really is a season, and a time for every purpose, under heaven.

Sometimes the body fails. And there you are on the street. No where to go. No way to clean up or change...

 
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Dear Anonymous,
Sometimes the body fails. And there you are on the street. No where to go. No way to clean up or change.
It's like this sometimes.
A blanket (thank you Dear Anonymous) a new, clean pair of pants (thank you Dear Anonymous) and a coffee card go some distance to supporting a fragile moment. Mike, like all of us would like to be seen in our 'best' moments. But Mike has the heart to share how it is too...when things are not 'best'. Thank you. May you know some comfort today. Some solace from pain. Some relief.