May you leave behind your handkerchief on a hearth that will grow cold, but only for a season or two. Someday you will return and coax the warmth of home into your weary bones, you will sew those buttons on a new waistcoat and you will sit, pensive, in a garden riddled with all the whimsical comforts of pipe and produce. You will circle back to little glories once you go there and back again.
But for today, I wish you leathery soles on tufted feet that set out on adventures you never thought to imagine. I wish you an awareness of something big on the horizon and I wish you all the courage that it will take to meet all that bigness when it turns your eye upon you. Because you are small, so very far from mighty, and so altogether unexpected. But that is the point.
May you come to realize that the mark of wise, old hands on your freshly painted door was a grace beyond comprehension and a summons toward a destiny no one really foresaw. A quiet, cozy hole in the ground contains the axis on which the world swings. While swords are sharpened and plans are made and the power of kingdoms ebbs and flows, may you be content with a cloak against the rain and little else. May you slip through the cracks toward the light. May you, in all your weakness, shame the strong.
May you be changed by seeing more. May you be unfazed by those unchanged, who refuse to look to the foreboding, dazzling beyond as you did. May you, in the end, raise a mug of ale with those who understand and drink deeply to the grand mission, conquered in humility, accomplished by the least of these.