I went to the grocery store and as I was leaving, there was a bottleneck of people trying to get out the door. As I trooped through trying to avoid nailing some poor soul in the Achilles tendon with my cart, I realized what the problem was: a woman was blocking half the walkway directing shoppers out. The big rug wasn’t lying completely flat and there was a bump since the edge was folded under. The lady had decided that this was a safety hazard and was telling everyone to watch their step while trying to direct traffic around the mat. She was saying she had called one of the employees to rectify the situation.
The barista came over to me and said, “Just to let you know, we’ll be closing in a few minutes.”
I looked up in shock at the clock. It had been two hours already that my dear friend and I had sat engrossed in conversation. It felt like we had just started talking too!
I had so needed that time to connect with my friend; she’s one of those rare people who I can talk about anything with and somehow, the conversation always ends up coming back to God and is incredibly uplifting and inspiring. I walk away feeling encouraged in my faith.
I’ve been really encouraged lately: a bunch of my friends have approached me saying they are considering foster care and want to ask some questions. I’m thrilled since it means a couple of things.
The first thing is that it means more kids are potentially going to find some great homes with some wonderful people to help cushion them in a terrible time. I wish I could take them all in, but the reality is that I can’t. We are simply one family and this is one of those cases where it truly “takes a village”.
We had an incident this week that involved an attempt to throw a five-pound hand weight up to the top bunk bed. I now have one very remorseful son with bad aim and another extremely forgiving son with a broken foot. To be completely honest, I am actually surprised that we’ve made it this long before having a broken bone. Having three boys means injuries are par for the course.