Tuesday, May 28, 2013


Incessant rain makes messes and mud.  Its accompaning gloom and chill invite me to return to the comforts of my bed, but my day charges on despite any of my resistance.  Maybe a cup of mocha would help.  Or two.  
Rain has never been a friend to our family's psyche.  We are not that family that thrills with a forced day  inside.  Our family numbers have changed drastically over the last three years.  Our littles whose hearts and minds bear much, fight against gloom and hunger for sunshine in their lives.  We often have to search high and low for glimmers of light.  
My mind straddled the end of a busy weekend away which included over 800 miles in a twelve passenger van and the weight of an upcoming hearing that will put me on the stand questioning my ability as a mom to our foster kids.  I did not welcome the rain today.  My head hurt.  My body hurt.  
Rain meant that my kids built more trains, played their cars in the kitchen, and enjoyed more praise music in the afternoon.  It meant that baseball games were cancelled so our dinner was not rushed.  It meant we could all listen to Dad read another chapter in the book he is writing.  A rainy night meant that we were not running but resting.  
I still drank two cups of coffee.  My frustration level was still high.  Yet, in the middle of craziness and making meatloaf I stood arms raised and eyes closed singing.  I looked a bit crazy, but that is okay.  Rain does that to me.  
Our four year old prayed at dinner.  He thanked God for rain.  I should follow his lead.

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