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.
