The other night I made a mistake. I read the news. A few of the stories were enough to send me into a tailspin, about the ubiquitous pain and injustice that is endemic to our broken world. My sleep was fraught with nightmares, and I cried loudly enough to awaken John, who wrapped his arms around me. I recited the Lord's prayer, repeating one line over and over with those hurting people in my heart. 

Mercifully, the next morning in my inbox there was an article about Post Traumatic Growth.  The possibility that people could recover, and even flourish after suffering brought a dawning much like the one outside my window. The author referenced research suggesting that up to seventy per cent of people whose lives are cracked apart can find good in the pieces.

When our kids were little and more, well, rascally, one of the strategies that hoisted us out of a well dug rut was called Nice Things. If one child hurt another, the victim was invited to ask for an indulgence. 

"Bring me crackers and cheese."

"Put on my favorite movie."

While the word trauma is several levels too harsh to describe the shenanigans going on at the Odhners, there were plenty of tears and slammed doors. Introducing Nice Things made a bad situation better. Rather than feeling immobilized the errant child had a cause to champion. It was the catalyst for many sweet interactions. 

John and I have grown from trauma. The subject matter is nothing unique. Opinions. Expectations. What I want matters more than what you want. But even at this early date I feel confident that there are signs of growth. Very much like the leaves outside my window.