Last night the stress of life got to me, and I ran away.
Ok, actually I drove.
I drove out to a nearby swamp, where I found the waxwings I'd been missing! And a goose, too. I also saw some ducks, a fisher, and a 6-point buck.
After all that and a gorgeous sunset over recently hayed fields, I was ready to go home again.
A book I'm currently reading on fetal alcohol effects led me to hunt down the single picture I have of one of my sons as a baby. Thankfully, I found it. That one, poor-quality copy of a polaroid brings tears to my eyes every time I see it. Sometimes it's for the time I missed. Sometimes it's for the hurt that baby had already experienced, and the hurt he didn't know was yet to come -- the hurt I wish I could've protected him from, and the hurt I was a part of.
As well as I know my son, and as much as I love him, looking at that picture makes him seem more "real" to me. It gives me a different perspective of who he is now. That fresh perspective, the tenderness toward him, and the tears are so very important. He desperately needs me to be impacted in that way, encouraged to keep learning how I can better love and help him.
Lord, give me the strength and courage to continue this journey.
