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He is missed.

When I call…he is missed.

When she says it is very lonely there…he is missed.

When we plan for the holidays…he is missed.

When there is coconut pie at a family gathering…he is missed.

When the church bells next door ring out…he is missed.

But he is here.

When I call…he is here.

When she says it’s very lonely there…he is here.

When we plan for the holidays…he is here.

When there is coconut pie at a family gathering…he is here.

When the church bells next door ring out…he is here.

He is missed…but he is here.

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Despite the cliche, I am reminded that life is a blank canvas. It’s given to us with opportunity. Opportunity to make something beautiful; something others will want to see; something that can give us satisfaction in it’s creation. But a blank canvas can be daunting. So many plans. So many ideas. So many desires. But none can be realized without that first stroke on the field of white. That first stroke can seem impossible and some never find the courage to make it. I don’t want to be afraid. What a tragedy to die with a blank canvas. Resolved: Make the mark, love it, live with it, or paint over it…but make the mark.

Namaste

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