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It’s been one of those months where the repetitive and mundane aspects of being a mom has landed me on my bedroom floor crying and praying that I not loose my temper, yell or come up with an ultimatum for better behavior one more time for the rest of the summer—it’s only the beginning of July!

So a few days ago on my way home from a teary–eyed appointment with my therapist, I decided to go for a quiet walk around Lake Katherine.

I took off my flip flops and walked sole to earth to slow my pace down so that I wasn’t walking with the momentum of my thoughts.

An older gentlemen walked up behind me and suggested that I be careful walking barefoot. He then asked, “Why are you walking barefoot?”

“To slow me down.” I replied.

Within minutes we were walking in sync side-by-side talking about our lives and before I knew it we were sitting on a bench overlooking the lily pads growing in the pond.

Victor and I sat on the bench and continued to talk about our lives and go back and forth with questions. Victor is 86 years-old and has 5 cçåhildren and 10 grandchildren. He owned his own business installing furniture in churches and schools. Each of his children send him different types of birthday cards from very sentimental one’s from his eldest son to funny cards from his youngest daughter. One of his granddaughter’s, Carly, is energetic and recently shaved her head to raise money for a girl in her high school who had Leukemia. The people at her new job find it fascinating she could do something so brave. He’s been married for 61 years and his wife is currently undergoing treatment for bone cancer.

“What’s been the best part of your life?” I asked.

He replied, “Raising my children.” “The place you are in right now.”

I sighed.

We continued our walk and said good-bye with a genuine hug.

I don’t know why all of the moments in my life that Friday morning lead me to Victor at Lake Katherine. Yet, I trust that life guided us together for that brief moment in time as an angel from the heavens to remind me of the present moment. . . even though it’s sometimes hard.