Crying oneself to sleep never feels great. I am taken back to other lonely nights. The bed seems larger. But then sleep comes, the sleep of dreamers and believers.
I woke at dawn still not sure if I could run six miles in time to meet at my parents’ house to make our annual trek to Mission Dolores for the Feast of the Lord of Miracles. As I fed the still skunked dogs, I shivered at the cool temps and decided to do weights at the gym. I cringed as I felt a migraine begin, the aura blinding me in the left eye. I popped two Tylenol and cried myself to another nap.
Within an hour, my head still hurt but my mood had lifted. I put my favorite gospel tunes on my iPod and drove to the gym. I ran a quarter mile on the treadmill and did a quick circuit of weights. And the rest of the day was full of miracles.
The sky so blue and clear you could see the city at noon and at sunset. The warm sun. The feeling I get when they ring the bell and process Our Lord out of the church. And my heart so full of the love I promised myself and the world.