View of the garden and chicken house through the kitchen window.
After 6 days of fevers, heart-stopping coughing fits, lethargic babies and temperamental temperaments to equal all the chaos, I'm starting to see a light at the end of sickness tunnel.
I hate hate hate watching sickness ravage my children's tiny bodies. Being powerless in the face of sickness weighs on my soul heavily. All is dark when they are coughing so hard they can't catch their breath. I try so hard to keep a gentle smile on my face when they look up at me with pleading eyes, begging for relief and I have none to give. I pray. And pray. And pray.
That's all I can do.
God, this sucks to be powerless as I watch my precious daughters suffer.
I trust You are here, even when I don't "feel" it. But it still sucks.
This brings me to the picture above. Turning the proverbial corner in this slowly dying plague, my heart starts to yearn for happier things to come. Namely, working in the garden.
I stinking miss it. I miss the dirt and the fresh air, the sweat and the toil, the digging and the weeding and the constant battle against the curse on the land. I'm quite sure I "miss" the curse because I've been cooped up inside for far too long and I'm afforded too much time to romanticize all the toil of gardening.
There is something so deeply satisfying to my soul to see dirt under my nails. To eat the food that I grew (by God's grace) is immensely, well, cool. I have been citified for far too long. Depending on a grocery store for my food instead of my own 2 hands feels like a jail sentence now.
I even miss the smelly chickens. (When are those useless creatures going to start producing eggs? That reminds me, we have a rooster to dispatch of.)
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