“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.”
Outside Kiwi House it is a beautiful day: rolling green hills, a tickling breeze, the warmth of the sun.
Inside there is chaos. Again. Our child “has a bad attitude.” Read: Our child is acting like he’s been raised by rabid wolves. He is acting nasty mean, throwing insults and anger around like confetti, and we’re all being covered in it. Bits & pieces of his broken heart, flying around to settle like thistles, daggers, poison, all over my body.
All afternoon it is the same old, same old. His wretched words make their way into my heart, spreading like a plague, filling me with bitterness. I’ve been told and told and told again that his behavior shouldn’t affect me, that I choose whether or not to allow his actions to dictate my emotions. I get it. But I don’t know how to do that. Is it even possible?! Hasn’t God created us to be inter-connected? Don’t my own actions always affect others… rippling outward from myself to touch those around me, and those around them, rippling out all the way to the ends of the earth?
I am baking cookies, speaking gently to him, correcting him with patience. I seem very calm, but I am so. not. calm. Inside I am boiling & seething with frustration, with anger. I am tired of this same old, same old. Every day, over & over again with this poison confetti. I’m sick of it.
He starts decorating cookies: slathering them with frosting, piling on the sprinkles. I want to send him far, far, faraway from me, but I stay quiet and he stays close.
Then he turns to me, smile wide, eyes bright. He hands me a cookie he’s decorated, just for me. He places it in my hand and squeezes his arms tight around me.
My boy runs off but the cookie stays on the counter. I am rolling out more dough and the longer I stare at that cookie the more the truth settles into me, deeper than those daggers, of what my child was saying to me when he placed it into my hand.
& so I do.