Chére,
When I think of the years we’ve known eachother, I realize it doesn’t seem like that long. I can bring to mind several friends I had growing up that I consider “childhood friends,” but you are not in that category; you surpass it. While others came and went, flowered and fell, we have always been able to reconnect, and by that I consider you a life long friend. And to be here for this day brings me great joy for you.
Looking back on the times sitting in Northland’s stackable chairs on Saturday nights, taking French lessons at the kitchen table, making sand castles with PVC pipes and coffee cans, I saw you searching for your place and your passion. Your eyes and sight were beyond your age. While the people around you lived for and by various shallow truths and blind longings, you could not join them because you sought something greater.
In finding a voice, and voicing a song, the melody lead you to Illinois, and by divine fate, to him. With him your passion you found, and your song you named. I wish I could have been there for you in those days before but my eyes had things yet to see, and other journeys to take, and while I was just as blind as the rest, I see enough now to know that you have found your place, and today you sign the deed to build a home on it, and what a grad home it will be:
Made of love, grace, and vintage things,
By hands that work for greater deeds,
Dealing hope out for all in need.
In the etiquette of Emily Gilmore, I give you the best of wishes, and to Michael, Congratualations.
Ton ami toujours,
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