tonight I cleaned chewed-up carrot out of the floor of the shower. we went on a walk and pretended we were horses. horses need carrots for snacks. horses don't take showers, they play in waterfalls. and wouldn't you know that horses just love to take their carrot snacks into the waterfall with them? there were knocks on the wall (do all families communicate this way when someone is in the shower or just mine?) requesting more carrots two more times. and somehow the gnawed nubs of the carrot ends got left behind when the horses got out to put on their jammies.
I started a study at church today called "the geography of grace." today's topic was vistas, the long-range views the soul uses to call us back to ourselves, to remind us of our true nature and calling. during an exercise where we shared with a partner I mentioned that I felt the vistas god offers me are too spread out, too few and far between. there is too much day-to-day to muddle through in between the reminders of the big picture.
my heart finally caught up with my words today. I've told the story of our weekend with a potential foster placement over and over. I've shard how horrifying it was to watch my son bully another child, one much smaller and more disadvantaged than himself. I used the analogy of fitting three carseats into my car: "it took a lot of work and some extra money. and we forced it to work, but it didn't feel quite safe and no one was really comfortable while we were doing it. I talked about the bedtime processing I did with jamin: "it just feels like too many kids in our family, mama. maybe if KC had always been here like I have it would be okay, but he hasn't." I've explained it all over and over, to eric, to friends, to our case manager, to my parent chat group. but during that share time in this new class at church, the feeling part of me finally heard what my mouth has been saying all day. weariness descended like a lead blanket: "I'm too exhausted emotionally to give my son what he needs right now. giving up foster care means giving up part of my identity. we aren't helping this poor little guy who cried when he had to leave our house. it was my kids' behavior, not the foster child's, that lead us to say no." and even though I am certain we are doing what is best for our family, the gravity of it all made it hard to muddle through the rest of my day.
when I told my partner my vistas were too spread out, he followed the rules of the exercise and let us sit in silence for a moment. then he asked his gentle follow up question: "are your vistas too spread out, or are you just not noticing? you have to pull off the highway to get the most out of a scenic overlook."
so tonight I will find my vista in the bottom of my shower. I will see children willing and excited to eat healthy food. I will treasure their creative imaginations as I wipe the drain. I'll be thankful for where we live, this magical wonderland of a home, as I pick up muddy jeans and dry puddles off the floor. I'll see the long range in the now: children who know their ideas will be honored and enjoyed, children who will remember a mama who played along. and I will be willing to enjoy the view, even if it means pulling off to the side a little more often.
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