Here is a picture of the mountains that I am grateful to see every morning as I walk into school. They remind me so much of Ecuador.
I felt grateful when I got my Friday clinic letter. Honestly, I don't know if I am a very good therapist at all. I have shaky hands. Everyone who knows me notices that in about five minutes. And I have never really been a hand coordinated person anyway, if I were I would be a pianist and I wouldn't be here at all, right? I'd be off at Julliard...maybe. But I put my best into the ten weeks of Saturday clinic. Didn't sleep at all Friday nights, sat up every half hour to check the clock, worried I would sleep through my alarm and miss my early morning shifts. I always showed up an hour before start time because I was so eager to see another human being after a night of insomnia. So I tried my best, raced through my breaks, tearing off sheets, wiping down the table, racing down the hall for the next client. And here I am sometimes still wondering why I am doing this, but seeing God's hand in it all enough to reassure myself that it is where I belong for now.
The hard part about Saturday was waking up at four-thirty in the morning, doing five massages in five hours and then coming home to a stir crazed family ready to get out and have some fun. Seven Peaks or the movies. Here was two weeks ago, back to Trafalga. I love my kids. I don't think there is a person alive who loves the Frog Hopper as much as Sam.
Sam and Caitlin. Sam is refusing to break at all because he wants to show me the proper way to drive the go-carts. Apparently I am an embarrassment to the family because the other cars lap me like three times.
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