суббота, 21 января 2012 г.

Rain in the Pond

By Crystal Brennan Ruzicka

I should have known better. I did know better, in fact, and I told myself as I balanced two bowls of cereal and a glass of juice between my fingers that it was a really bad idea.
I felt them slip milliseconds before they fell. No time to do anything but watch everything smash onto the floor, spilling milk, juice, and broken glass across the kitchen. I remember screaming as I hammered my fist against the side of the refrigerator.

My four-year-old daughter and one-year-old son were patiently waiting for breakfast. Hot tears rained down my face as I wondered how to explain to them that there was nothing else to eat. We were dead broke. Paycheck to paycheck didn't describe our life; it was more like paycheck to three days before the next paycheck. Those bowls of cereal and that glass of juice represented more than breakfast. I'd been so proud of the fact that I'd rationed our groceries so that we had just enough food to last until my husband came home with his check.

So when I cried, the tears were for so much more than the mess.

"It's okay, Mommy," my daughter said quietly. I turned to her, wiping my eyes as I thought of how to explain how not okay it was. "It's all just rain in the pond, Mommy," she continued, her wide eyes shining with understanding.

The power behind those words struck me profoundly. What's one storm to a pond? Nothing. It might seem like a big deal in that moment, but when the clouds part, the big pond sits unchanged.

I had no idea what was coming down the road. I didn't know that my sweet boy who called me Mama and giggled through peek-a-boo games was going to lose his voice to a monster called autism. I didn't know that my world was going to seem so dark as I fought for my son, that the blackness would threaten to consume me.

But thanks to my daughter, I did know this: No matter how awful those storms felt when I was standing within them, they would pass. I might be different after passing through them, but the core of who I am as a child of God would be unchanged. And I would never weather them alone.


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