Sometimes I find myself in a hurry for no particular reason at all. Returning home in my good shoes, I have to fight the inclination to simply throw them in the closet and change quickly into my “around the house” gear. Then I see the paper forms that the shoes were originally packed in — and I pick up my mother’s torch. I place the forms back in the shoes. Toes and heels. Safe. Cared for. Wrap them in the larger sheet of tissue paper, and place them gently in their space. 

It’s always about the torches. These things that were carried, through all kinds of inclement weather, tumbled down hills, and struggled up mountains, with tired grips and hopeful hearts, excited grins that reached through outstretched arms to say, this is important, this is who I am, who we are, the best of what I could be, the start of what you can become!!!!

The athletes gather in my adopted country, under one flame, lit by millions of sparks. Passed on from mothers and fathers. Grandparents and teachers. Coaches and companions. Tiny flames that say it all matters. We all matter. And we have to care. We have to take the time to place the forms back into the shoes of our humanity, and keep them strong, keep them alive, and walk proudly on, farther, further, into the best that we can be.