Sure, there are awards and accolades...bleh. I've gotten awards...I've earned A's...I have a medal on my letter jacket from high school (yes, I kept it...I'm frequently too sentimental for my own good) that says I was "the best" tennis player in my division...I worked hard for it, and it felt amazing to sew it on my letter...BUT...
...there were other "bests" that followed me. Expiration on the "best" moniker? One year.
That all leads me to this...the "best" is actually what I think it is. There are people that I pull out my deep reserves of patience for...my extra, super, family-sized amounts of compassion for, etc. My people make me want to be better...pull my mind from myself and spread it all over the souls that my heart considers my family...but who pulls out my "best?"
I was considering it all while sitting on my bed, sipping the very first espresso I've ever made with my little, silver, stove-top espresso machine (and yes, it was glorious), and watching the sky turn from midnight blue to dusky rose...when Ruckus (who considers draping herself over me like a blanket an art form) gently sighed her small, contented, puppy dog sigh and rolled over on her back...blond, silky-haired paws pointed skyward...tail issuing a slight swish...and dropping back off to sleep...safe by my side.
The sweetness of the moment pierced my heart...snatching my breath away...and I realized...to make sure that she never knows a moment of hunger or pain...to be there to give her a soft place place to lay her head and the unconditional love that she showers on me without hesitation...I would do my "best."
