another tornado watch

Does anyone listen when, for once in a thousand tries, you say what you mean? What becomes of the flame, of the tiny bit of light you bear?
(And I've said it all so many times.)
Do we bring it here, hoping to share (and bring out theirs)? Another teacher commented that is us, not them, who have hope (for them).
There is no space to breath between the days, and we search for grace in their faces or maybe in our own hearts.
Ken told me today that he's joined the army (reserves). He is one of those few that helps me believe in them all. It was a little too much like watching him disappear. I think I am finally beginning to understand why people around here pray so much.