Synopsis
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
