These days our house is a fabulous hot mess of nae naeing and Wallstreet Journal reading.
Our two delightful foster boys are giving us an intimate introduction to a new world with grace we seem to lose as adults.
Kind laughter at my awkward dance moves. Infinite patience for my weak taste buds. Constant forgiveness for my ignorant vocabulary.
Slowly I’m catching on. Catching up.
And they are too. Necessarily, we both come toward each other. Together learning to eat, sleep and live under one roof.
We find new language we all understand. New rhythms we all keep. New recipes we all enjoy.
Everyone taking a turn out of his or her comfort zone.
Some days, it’s their familiar fried chicken we try. Other times, it’s kale chips they find to be a new favorite.
Often new things don’t win them over though. Their first tastes of beets brought vomiting noises and ugly words.
Slowly, we’ve worked toward sharing our thoughts and feelings in more gentle ways. Stating simply, “that’s not my preference” rather than expounding on an item’s faults.
But then on occasion, our worlds collide with a beautiful piece of common ground. Something we all know and like.
Praise God for bacon.
There is rest in the bacon. In the safety of the familiar. And I’m grateful for that. But I’m more grateful for this chance to learn from these beautiful boys. About far more than food.