Therapy Session 3

Good morning from my usual spot on the couch. Amelia didn’t turn on the lights for me. “Make yourself at home,” she says.

Feels like home. Minus the baseball cleats and NERF gun paraphernalia in the middle of the floor. Oh, and it’s HOT. Probably not to a normal person, but to the person who keeps the air on sixty nine, it’s hot.

He forgot his stuffed fox, so the long green string will have to do.

Grab your coffee (🤢) and settle in. I want to tell you a story.

Last week I took all three boys to the mall. I loathe the mall. JP wanted a shirt he saw in Hot Topic (I especially hate Hot Topic). On the way out, we were all starving. Hangry, really. Attitudes were less than desirable. Except Jackson – he was thrilled to be out and about, as always.

“Let’s just stop in Grill Marks,” I said. Suddenly, everyone felt better. Side note: if you like the food at Grill Marks, consider supporting the Haywood Mall location. The manager is super nice and is working hard to keep things afloat.

We sit down to eat. As if someone flipped a switch, JP and Preston dive headfirst into a conversation about their dads.

Where in the world is this coming from? I didn’t want to interrupt.

For the remainder of lunch, Jackson and I sat on the outskirts of a conversation too heavy for adults, much less a ten and fifteen year old. A tennis ball sized knot formed in my throat.

I didn’t say a word until we got in the car. I told them that it was unfortunate, but we lived in a world that is unfair. Sometimes scary, and definitely hurtful. I reminded them that our earthly relationships fall short, but God is perfect and gracious and good. He promises to take care of us.

Before pulling out of the parking lot, I plugged in my phone and turned on Chris Tomlin’s Good, Good, Father. We sang all the way home. Jackson singing is a worship experience all by itself.

I was mentally exhausted by the time we got home. I melted into the recliner.

My phone whistled at me.

One of the news/media sites I work with wanted to know if I could cover a concert Saturday night in Simpsonville. I’m not typically a concert person. I’m almost never an outdoor concert in the middle of summer person (we keep our air on sixty nine, remember!)

“Eh. It depends on who it is.”

I don’t remember typing yes. The floodgates opened and I began to ugly cry.

I’m not here to smother you in my beliefs but, make no mistake, God orchestrated the entire afternoon and wanted me at this concert.

In this crazy world we’re living in, I am thankful for a God who is there, even though we can’t see Him. Who listens, even though we don’t hear an audible voice. And who meets our needs before we even know what they are.

I hope JP shared this story in therapy today. It’s therapeutic for me to share it with you.

He’s a Good, Good Father.

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