Sometimes you can just tell, in the set of the jaw, the sparks in the eyes, the slowness of the limbs, it is not going to be an easy morning.
The breakfast was wrong and though our cupboards and refrigerator are full, there was nothing to eat and these kinds of conversations can make my heart go cold, my anger rise hot. I settle in for a day full of skirmishes and misunderstandings.
The morning moves tentatively along as I make my way into the bathroom to help clean newly pierced ears. I remember cookies baked yesterday and tea-pots waiting in the hutch. Maybe there is a different path through this day than the one we first set out on.
“As a break from school this morning, what do you say to a cookie tea party?”
Softened eyes meet mine in the bathroom mirror, and Peace makes His way in through kindness and understanding, mending the frayed edges of our hearts.
Once math is well on its way, I put the kettle on to boil. At its whistle, we stop to spread a cloth on one end of the table the other end a jumble of math and handwriting books.
The air fills with the sweet and spicy scent of the steeping Good Earth tea. Cookies are piled on a china plate. I pluck three leaves from our thanks giving tree. While our tea cools, we read verses and talk over gifts: food, a bigger bed for the girls, a break from school with a treat. We write them on the leaves and hang them back up.
Chatter turns to their writing class and how to write a narrative. We sip our tea.
Pouring a second cup, I feel the hope in this spot of quiet and sweetness, sister-chatter and Truth words.
We step back into the current of the day, filled, ready to work.