I have been low: worried, anxious, angry, indignant. I have some pretty serious concerns about Greyson's learning and behavior, and tomorrow morning we go to a consultation with his doctor. I know my child well, and I know he genuinely struggles with focus, impulsivity, and hyperactivity.
I struggle with public education's expectations of our little ones to sit quietly and do worksheets all day with minimal time to move.
The fact that Greyson's dad and I are at odds over this stuff makes it exponentially harder.
Tonight my worry and anxiety reached a fever pitch. Last minute nerves don't help. In recent months, since I read Fervent, by Priscilla Shirer, I've taken to writing my prayers. Not all of them, but when it's really serious or consuming or feels urgent, I definitely do. I try to be as specific as possible. To open the steam valve that writing provides.
I wrote two prayers tonight. The first one was a request for peace and clarity. To turn my worries over to Him. To have some solace because my brain was buzzing and my face was turning red, my cheeks hot. I felt like I was going to pop.
I wrote, and I came down a bit. I started mulling over some options in my head. Suddenly I saw more than one way forward. I felt hopeful, and I felt peaceful.
The second prayer was one I didn't see ahead of time, but the need to write it was palpable. Once I had come down from my frustration, I took some time to talk with friends online, to do some private messaging, to ask some questions, mull over some answers. My second prayer was one of thanks. Thanks for truly gracious, giving, generous, encouraging friends. People who will talk me off the ledge and share their own experiences that bring so much comfort when I'm worrying myself to pieces.
Thank you, thank you all, for all you do. Vasilly, I'm looking at you right now.