It had been a rough few weeks. As the insults kept coming from that one whose job was to nurture. They never did. Nurture that is. They're not capable of that kind of love. She knows this. Accepted this long ago. Still - it leaves her wounded. Despite the pain, she walks another day the best she knows how. Trying to be to her children what she never got herself. Trying to keep it all in balance.
But the scales of her heart tip when he grumbles impatient about laundry and with her own impatience she snaps back. What she wanted...needed...was to hear she was good enough. That she mattered to someone. That she wasn't a mistake. She didn't want to hear one more way she just didn't quiet measure up.
His searing words were like salt in the wound and she barked loud like a scared wounded dog. She was looking in the wrong place. Only God could fill that emptiness but foolishly she pressed on.
Tumultuous tongues whipped about once again and the bloodier they became the more fierce the fight. Not with each other, but with their own demons that need to be slayed.
The door slammed shut. Hard. The door to her heart slammed harder. Stomping up the stairs he declared he was going to bed. "Fine." She yelled. And they went their separate ways.
Sitting alone she caught her breath and those words hauntingly echoed. "Your daughter thinks your family is perfect and so do I." Words that poured from the lips of her daughter's boyfriend. Perfect? No! Far from perfect. For weeks that statement continued to haunt. She asked her daughter where he got such a ridiculous notion? If anyone knew just how imperfect...no...how absolutely broken they were it would be those seven gifts raised under their roof. And that daughter now living on her own began to cry. " I know our family...your marriage isn't perfect but no matter how much you and dad fight...how bad things get... you sleep in the same bed every night. You work it out and love each other. You have things in your marriage that I know I want in mine."
She sits content to spend the night on that soft sofa. Heart ablaze and if she's honest she's just torn right through but those words she can't escape. They soften the heart. She knows this is why God gave her so many gifts. They hold a mirror and she's humbled. She was to teach those children. Yet she is the one who learns from them everyday. Slowly her feet make their way up the creaking wooden stairs and before him she stands. Words of healing and forgiveness spoken once again.
So, he'll work hard until his hands are worn to feed this team of people he calls family. He brings home a teapot...one that whistles...he knows that makes her happy and the four avocados she forgot to pick up...she doesn't like grocery shopping. He'll continue to read her writing even though reading isn't his thing. He brings her flowers just like the ones that graced her wedding gown years ago. Sometimes they're in a pot... sometimes pulled from the earth with roots dangling about, all to say "I love you." And he bathes that little boy who took off his diaper during nap time...only love could clean that.
She'll continue to scrub his clothes clean like she did decades ago in the Mexican jungle. Find a mate to all those lonely white socks that look exactly alike except for one minute detail. She'll roll out dough. Early. For those cinnamon rolls he loves. She scrubs the toilets and cleans the house...he likes things in order. She'll fill plates with his favorite things to eat. And she'll listen to his vision and get on board even though at times it overwhelms.
And when the day closes in the middle of all their brokenness, his hand finds hers...
Grateful.
Jesus got them through one more day.
Until then...
Jessie
His searing words were like salt in the wound and she barked loud like a scared wounded dog. She was looking in the wrong place. Only God could fill that emptiness but foolishly she pressed on.
Tumultuous tongues whipped about once again and the bloodier they became the more fierce the fight. Not with each other, but with their own demons that need to be slayed.
The door slammed shut. Hard. The door to her heart slammed harder. Stomping up the stairs he declared he was going to bed. "Fine." She yelled. And they went their separate ways.
Sitting alone she caught her breath and those words hauntingly echoed. "Your daughter thinks your family is perfect and so do I." Words that poured from the lips of her daughter's boyfriend. Perfect? No! Far from perfect. For weeks that statement continued to haunt. She asked her daughter where he got such a ridiculous notion? If anyone knew just how imperfect...no...how absolutely broken they were it would be those seven gifts raised under their roof. And that daughter now living on her own began to cry. " I know our family...your marriage isn't perfect but no matter how much you and dad fight...how bad things get... you sleep in the same bed every night. You work it out and love each other. You have things in your marriage that I know I want in mine."
She sits content to spend the night on that soft sofa. Heart ablaze and if she's honest she's just torn right through but those words she can't escape. They soften the heart. She knows this is why God gave her so many gifts. They hold a mirror and she's humbled. She was to teach those children. Yet she is the one who learns from them everyday. Slowly her feet make their way up the creaking wooden stairs and before him she stands. Words of healing and forgiveness spoken once again.
So, he'll work hard until his hands are worn to feed this team of people he calls family. He brings home a teapot...one that whistles...he knows that makes her happy and the four avocados she forgot to pick up...she doesn't like grocery shopping. He'll continue to read her writing even though reading isn't his thing. He brings her flowers just like the ones that graced her wedding gown years ago. Sometimes they're in a pot... sometimes pulled from the earth with roots dangling about, all to say "I love you." And he bathes that little boy who took off his diaper during nap time...only love could clean that.
She'll continue to scrub his clothes clean like she did decades ago in the Mexican jungle. Find a mate to all those lonely white socks that look exactly alike except for one minute detail. She'll roll out dough. Early. For those cinnamon rolls he loves. She scrubs the toilets and cleans the house...he likes things in order. She'll fill plates with his favorite things to eat. And she'll listen to his vision and get on board even though at times it overwhelms.
And when the day closes in the middle of all their brokenness, his hand finds hers...
Grateful.
Jesus got them through one more day.
Until then...
Jessie
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