The pair of dogwood trees that a group of friends gifted me with two years ago are blooming. I can see the snowy white blossoms from where I am sitting. One is in the front yard and another is in the back. In a week the petals will fall off and the magnificent trees will recede back into anonymous green, pretending that they are no better than the oaks and maples who share the sunshine. Those trees have another season in which to make me gasp with their glory. 

This morning Benjamin was adorable. We chatted while he strung the belt through each loop, and lined up the bump of his socks on each heel. Meticulously. 

"What is brittle?" he smiled in anticipation of my answer. 

"It means it breaks easily, like an icicle, or peanut brittle. It's the opposite of flexible. You are learning to be flexible. When things don't go well you bend."

He served himself breakfast and packed his own lunch. I am trying to sit on my hands rather than help him. He needs to do it himself. Ben asked again.

"What is flexible?" Sometimes knowing the answer is as rewarding as being surprised. 

The morning was sweeter for its stark contrast with Sunday. He yelled for seven hours. Since the rule is Upstairs Loud, Downstairs Quiet he spent seven hours in his room. I did not feel good about that. But this morning, he was as gorgeous as a dogwood tree in May. 

I have no intention of ripping up the dogwoods in a month, as punishment for failing to be beautiful. I know they will be again.

At the end of Sunday I had dark thoughts of wanting to give up on Ben, whatever that means. God could have swooped in and solved the conflict, but I have a feeling He was sitting on His hands. 

I don't actually know how Ben's life will unfold. But sometimes being surprised is as rewarding as knowing. 

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