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Signets of Courage

It begun with an exodus, one thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine, the year of our lord, it had been said to a single mother of seven, that it was no longer possible.  Her last son had been in the roughshod of dare; his prayer had been for the daily bread, his determination writ large on his face. His demeanor calculating, his expectation was to see through a year of high school, beyond that it was too much to ask.

There was no exemplary reason for doing it, but she had to do it, she knew deep down from within that she had to do it. Her faith and courage was the only inheritance she could give to her son, in her own words, “that is all that mattered.” Her meager resources diminishing, her worn out soul torn, her hope stretched beyond its elastic limit and the incessant prodding of a weary mind bearing her down, it was not meant to be.

The alternatives were discomforting. In her mind it was like a conspiracy of landscapes to vanish her horizon of hope, all the resulting effort she had slaved in, had produced no exceptional results, she had tried and tried and the results had not been any forthcoming. She cursed her inadequate resources because she could not give enough, yet she had given her all.

Her attempts had ended with an insurmountable load of debts and outcomes that literary became a bottomless pit of expectation. There was no rock bottom. In fact, getting to the bottom down would have been an astronomical ambition. She had tried without fail. This time she had even tried with fail, but she was too stubborn to quit. She wanted to see this through as it was the only best left to do.

She came, she was not dressed in flowing white robes of righteous gait. No, she was not even adorned with jewels of royalty or crystallized in an ambiance of sanctity. She was simple, her smile infectious and her optimal eternal. Her queenly heart looked misplaced in this simplicity; you would think she has worn the body of one of her lowly servants, but she was every inch a saint.

That year, She had offered to pay for the term; mother had found somewhere to stand.

The son could now move the world.

Join me in celebrating courage and an Advent of possibility.

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