abstract art

Recently a woman narrated to me a tale of spilled milk: her little one was all set for school, starched and pressed, and then an elbow sunk into the cereal bowl-
The same week another woman shared how her child refused to take a bite of dinner-the ordeal carried on and on.
Questions about child raising come up a lot- I don't always remember the spilled milk times with my 8, although I'm sure those times were there for me too. (I do remember corn bread, sticky like glue, under the table after dinner.) I remember how little issues can overwhelm and confuse a weary parent.
And honestly, I wish I had been kinder, more patient, more grace filled during the little years and beyond.
Last week I watched this sweet girl fit puzzle pieces together on the hardwood floor in my living room. I remember the panicky urge to force my children like puzzle pieces into my life picture. It doesn't work-children are like abstract art . . .
And God is faithful.

I have been young and now I am old and I have not seen the righteous forsaken (Ps 37)