There was Mr. Wyant,
 the biddie softball coach
 who treated me more like an Olympian
 than a ten-year-old.
  
 There was Mr. McCormack,
 the eighth-grade homeroom teacher 
 who noticed my fear 
 and was so kind and welcoming.
  
 There was Mr. Brailo,
 the high school English teacher
 whose excitement for my college acceptance
 was more enthusiastic than my own.
 
 There was Beverly,
 the campus counselor
 who held my hand
 through heartbreak and depression.
  
 Too stuck in my self and wallowing in darkness,
 I barely noticed them then.
 But I see them today with the eyes of my heart – 
 God, 
 lifting me up
 encouraging me
 celebrating me
 and
 walking with me
 through them – and so many others – 
 long before I could see God.