From the moment I arrived, you wrapped me in kindness as warm and bright as sunshine melting winter’s frost. Your love has flowed into my life like a river rushing into a dry creek bed, turning emptiness into abundance.
Some of you brought baskets of fruit, glowing like jewels from a summer orchard, or shared meals that smelled of childhood kitchens and tasted like comfort.
Others placed holy Bibles and prayer books into my hands—their pages soft as old friends, their words lighting my path like lanterns in a starless night. Every gesture, big or small, felt like a thread weaving me into the fabric of your community.
But your kindness runs deeper still. When you handed me those weathered Bibles, you didn’t just give me books—you gave me a compass for my soul. The words of Psalm 23:5 ring true: “You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”
And oh, how my cup spills with gratitude! Your generosity isn’t just food for my body or wisdom for my mind; it’s a balm for my heart.
Like rain softening parched earth, you’ve nourished parts of me I didn’t know were thirsty. In a world that often feels cold, you’ve been a hearth—a place where love glows, steady and unyielding, teaching me that even the smallest acts of care can fill a life to its brim.
When I think of the fresh fish you’ve shared—caught with hands as careful as a gardener tending roses, gifted like hidden gems pulled from the deep—I’m left speechless. You didn’t just give me food; you gave me stories of the river, trust as rare as pearls, and a taste of belonging.
And then there’s the respect you’ve shown me, lifting me up like I’m a professor in a grand hall, even though I’m just a wanderer scribbling notes in life’s messy notebook.
It’s like being handed a crown you insist I deserve, though I’ve done nothing to earn it but exist. Your faith in me is a mirror, showing me a version of myself I never dared to imagine.
But your love goes even deeper. You’ve scolded me like a father guiding his child, laughed with me like siblings howling at the moon, and stood by me like brothers sworn to share both storms and sunsets. The Bhagavad Gita says, “He is the friend of all creatures” (9.18), and in you, I’ve found that friendship—wide as the ocean, endless as the stars.
You’ve taught me that family isn’t just blood; it’s hands that hold you steady, hearts that shout, “You’re not alone.” Your kindness isn’t a flicker; it’s a bonfire, warming every corner of my soul, proving that even in life’s wildest seas, love is the anchor that never lets go.
Your love is a quilt stitched with countless hands—each thread a gesture, a prayer, a moment of fierce care. I came to Sheffield a stranger, but you soaked me in a pool of belonging, warm as Alabama rain.
Now, wherever life takes me, I’ll carry this truth: gratitude isn’t just a feeling. It’s a fire, lit by your kindness, that will keep me warm for a lifetime.
Thank you for being my family, my teachers, my joy; Sheffield is gleamering beacuse of you’ll. Sheffield isn’t just a place on a map anymore—it’s the garden where my heart took root.
With all my love and gratitude,
Matrika Poudyal “Matt”