Only Josh hesitated when his first plate full of food was delivered without cutlery. "I need a spoon," he said, pointing to the parfait cup filled with wiggly red jello. "And a fork," he added with a nod toward the mashed potatoes on his plate.
"I'm sorry, young man," I, with the beaming red hat and floral apron replied, "you didn't order those items to accompany your first course. Perhaps your next round will include forks and spoons."
No fork of faith appeared to dig me out of my own flawed pit. No spoon of revelation scooped the selfishness from my own wrestling heart and set me free to love like I had dreamed mommies would. Didn't I order something more, Lord? I seem to be lacking a few parenting utensils.
The man child flopped on his bed.
Just dig in with your hands.. the ones I'm holding.
I took a hesitant step towards Mr. Angry even though my feet longed to flee.
But I'll get so messy.
I breathed deep and patted my firstborn on the back. Muscles arched. Head disappeared deeper into the pillows.
But what if my best effort just splatters all over?
I'm right here waiting to clean up your spills.
More is Who I Am. You need me.
I fumbled for words, stroked once more the sweaty hidden head and tiptoed from the room. Baby's cries had subsided. Bunk bed girls lay silent, the hum of their nightmusic seeping through the crack beneath their door. Valentine's Day was drawing to a close.
I checked backpacks, cleaned the coffee pot, and headed weary-legged to bed. Cupid's Cafe was closed, the red-hat returned to the dress up closet, the paper menus relinquished to the garbage can. I dug through piles of clean laundry to find my pajamas- the cute ones- in honor of the day. And then the voice that had erupted in anger hollered from bed. "Be sure to check your pillow before you go to sleep."
And the One who was calling out the stars by name set an agape feast of grace before me and urged,