I do a lot of dishes being a foster parent of a varying amount of kids can be difficult. Sometimes after dealing with meltdowns, homework, managing their chores and making sure we have fun I like to settle down to a nice large pile of dishes that need to be hand washed. Obviously, that is a lie, I would rather read, watch T.V., sleep or rock quietly in the corner and weep softly. I always try to remember that beyond this daily grind that some days seeks to turn me into a fine dust, there is an eternal purpose. That the dishes that I am about to wash, the stuff that they are made of is created just like me. Created by a loving God and they are covered in the remnants of his provision for my family.
* * *
Looking down into the dishes They be wet and afraid While the radio spouts hate And the sparrow dances in the brook I see my faint reflection overlaid on the window
_I feel older here!_
The water is soapy and murky with dairy Cereal and green beans float Like boats made to sink These dishes can’t wash themselves My elbow grease runs low
_I feel older here_.
Drops of pure math and matter fall Ripples in that muck and grime All explained in the moment My sponge, my presence, an order That calmed the raging seas
_I feel older here?_
If at any moment a thought Might cross the cosmos to lite On the face of God, beyond me Oh the rapture, beyond me, above me, not me Purpose more than me and stuck eggs and cheese.
_I feel older here._ **Eternal**