The odyssey continues as I slowly creep toward recovery. It has not been two weeks, yet I am anxious to get moving, to feel less soreness and pain but I have to be realistic. Each day has its own moments of grace, they are small but significant, like putting on shoes today, reaching out without feeling any soreness, touching my wife’s hand as we lay together in the evening. Touch, that most intimate of human contact, the touch of a hand, the contact made as another helps to dress you or just hold you as you’re challenged to walk with one crutch. The touch of lips in a kiss before the night overtakes and the world beyond our world takes shape and form in dreams. As I lay in bed, as I have been given time to think, pray, contemplate. It’s never through great, momentous Herculean efforts that have brought me peace, but in those small, human connections whether at the bedside of an elder passing into the night or a child eager to show their latest accomplishment. Small moments of grace, God in the simplicity of life, in a cooling breeze, in a baby’s smile, in the sip of a rich and hoppy IPA.