My Tribe

My tribe is not the rich and famous

But the poor and challenged

My people are not the up and comers

But the down and outers

The hurt and hurting, lost and confused

Confessing instead of posturing or pretending

Comfortable with their failings; no image to protect

Here is my tribe, my place, the home I claim

With legions of servant heroes; lights of the world 

I wrote this because I’ve recently noticed that my shoulders cease to ache when I sit with patients in a mental health waiting room, or how relaxed I am a Special Olympics event with my nephew, or how much fun I have eating in a restaurant with messy, Autistic, Downs, or otherwise challenged adults who are just happy to be there.