It’s been one of those days.
I thought these days would become more infrequent as the kids get older.
I screamed so much that my throat hurts… and I feel like I deserve it.
Why, at the end of the day, is it so hard for us to forgive ourselves?
So much for the one good year goal. All the days gone by in achieving the goal… washed away by tears of children today.
Great job, Mom.
One of those days.
It’s St. Patrick’s Day.
We celebrate that one around here. The stealthy leprechaun visits and leaves a trail of treasure hunt. The end of the rainbow brings a pot of overflowing craft supplies… and overflowing joy from little ones.
Then, the downward slide.
Projects, procrastination, perpetual whining.
The volcano of mama erupts. Not once… but over and over.
I never knew it would be so hard… to hold my tongue.
I never knew I would fail at it so frequently.
I never knew I would hurt the hearts of little ones… for whom I would throw myself into a fiery volcano.
But it is hard, and I do hurt them. And they forgive me. And I forgive them. But… I am not so quick to forgive… myself.
Maybe they won’t remember…
This day of Irish celebration… a bust.
I read something the other day. Something about feeding His sheep. The words drew me in… they reminded me of what it’s really like out there.
I, called to feed His sheep… spent the day feeding my woes.
With my full pantry.
With my full house.
With my full closets.
With my full belly.
With my full arms.
With my full heart.
Poor, poor me.
We feel quite helpless sometimes.
We watch the terror enveloping our world.
We watch our economy like a growing snowball… plummeting down the steep mountainside.
We watch as people suffer, and starve, and die.
We feel the pinch to our own purses.
We feel the tug at our hearts.
We feel the fear and the frustration.
We watch it all happen… and we feel pretty helpless.
Don’t you sometimes have the urge… to do something? Just anything… that matters?
When you feel like the day is a bust, and the world is busted… don’t you just want to do something?
We did. Today.
The day was a bit of a bust (in mama’s mind). Things just didn’t go the way they were planned.
Then, the moment. A moment of peace. Eyes went to a face on the screen.
A pretty little face. A little girl in a white dress with a big fluffy pink bow crowning her shiny dark locks.
She has been waiting 228 days. Almost. One. Year.
For months and months she has waited for someone… anyone… to pick her.
Our eyes… captured by hers.
Her birthday… the same as my oldest baby’s.
We are the lucky ones.
It is St. Patricks’s Day.
I yelled too much. Kids whined too much. We planned too much.
We. Have. Too. Much.
When He called us to spread our luck… which we know is the nickname for blessing… we listened.
I can’t wait to write her!
Oh, she’s so sweet.
I think she will be so excited to hear she has a sponsor on St. Patrick’s Day!
My own little one gleefully exclaimed as she pranced around the room.
We are the lucky ones.
We just forget sometimes.
Our new friend across the oceans just reminded us. She is the blessing. She just doesn’t know it.
Her name, of course… is Irish.
Not an Irish name.
Her name. is. I.R.I.S.H.
She is the one waiting at the end of our rainbow today.
John 21:17
The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.
