Cooking is therapy, and as I glanced over last week’s posts in preparation for writing today’s, I realized that I talked about my kitchen way more than usual.
It’s because last week was a rough one for me and I needed escape by spending time concentrating on measurements, ingredients and what was bubbling in the pan and not what was bubbling in my brain.
1. We have to get a new walker for Travis. His old one broke beyond repair and we couldn’t replace it with a similar model because he’d overshot the height limitation. The only option was to move him into a larger walker and while that sounds simple and easy, the fact is, these decisions and equipment transitions are hard for me.
The bigger unit looks huge.
It screams “handicapped”.
It weighs a ton.
2. He has outgrown the pull-ups that he has worn for years and we’ve been having more accidents than usual. I’ve got to get something else for him but the readily available products at the store are meant for adults, not children, so that means researching personal care items on the internet and there are many other ways I’d rather spend my time on-line.
3. I am walking through the valley of the shadow of the death of failed marriages with more than one friend.
4. I had to say goodbye to a little girl who captured my heart. Sweet C, who cannot speak or walk, whose body trembles uncontrollably when she is excited, whose smile makes angels weep has left. Her mother was transferred for her job and C has gone to another town and another school and I have found myself having irrational thoughts about who will love her and watch over her.
I have chauffeured this child in my car on field trips because the lift bus didn’t arrive. Who will do that at the next school?
Will her new assistant be patient with her? Will she wipe the drool from her mouth lovingly and gently?
Will her new friends see the light in her eyes? The laughter in her heart? Will they run over and hug her like my sweet precious boys who are wrecked as I am that she’s gone?
Lord, I need to lay all the brokenness at your feet and have you sift it and sort it, throw away the garbage of doubt and unbelief, and restore faith and courage.
Because if I put up one more quart of applesauce, I’m going to need a bigger house.