Spit balls and puppy eyes ...

I am nestled in the warmth of my home ... amazed that I can feel at home so far away from it. Building a life in a new place is the oddest thing. The moments where my heart pauses and looks around in shock like it was somehow transported in the middle of beating are still often. Yet between those moments my heart beats on. I am loved and love.

I leave my work each day grateful for the capacity that my heart has to hold other's sadness and be present with their fear. Today was brilliant. I met with two school-aged boys who demand my presence and patience. One opened up to me like I was an electric can opener ... the other like I was a key-chain swiss-army knife. Yet somehow they have come to realize at the same time that they are safe in our bubble. That the thoughts that hurt so deeply CAN be written on a piece of paper, made into a spit-ball, and blown out of their chest. And that the play that comes so naturally to them is not the opposite of counselling but integral to it.

I have begun to believe more and more that Children can see your intention. If you think of just that, and it is safe and true, and look into their eyes ... what you see may break your heart, but what they see may help to heal theirs.

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I realized as Patrick and I were of in the middle having a disagreement/fight (we have realized that we have very different definitions of these two words)that I think that I feel a safety and calmness in conflict. I was talking with Tree and don't know if it is related to growing up with a lot of yelling or if it is because it can feel like the opposite of intimacy. I felt a little bad ... Patrick's blood was boiling and mine felt like a cool summer stream. That is not to say that there are not times where my blood also boils ... but those times seem rare. I don't know. Warrants some more thought.