Little turns me off from foster care more than foster care training itself. Hours upon hours of the horrific traumas children have experienced before entering care, chased with a shot of "here's what to do when the sh*t hits the fan."
I came home today feeling nauseous, and tired, afraid and defeated. The needs are so immense, I know from experience. The outcomes can be so challenging. I've seen that too.
The people on the journey can restore your faith in humanity...or not.
My husband is a gracious man, who didn't object when, upon returning home, I slipped into the garden, sitting, waiting for direction.
I picked up a flat or two of annuals, that have been waiting to be put in the ground, along with a packet of seeds and my basket of tools.
He only interruped to ask "is there something you want me to make for dinner?" God bless that wise man.
I stayed out until the gloaming, tucking snap dragons in with a tender press around the roots, and stopping to admire my gorgous daughter who was finding the enchantment in planting surprise nasturtium seeds for me to find come sprouting.
The garden is where I scrub my soul clean. The garden is where I hear the God whisper "it will all end well" and I whisper "it is well with my soul" into the chilling air.
I am thankful that God has put a garden in my heart, and a place for me to grow. When all the plants are settled for the night, and the sky has settled from guava and purple to a dusky grey, my husband pulls the burgers off the grill. It's time to go in, and I am ready. My soul has released its burden and I am freed.