The yard where my chickens live is officially wetlands. The standing water is two inches deep in spots which cannot possibly be good for my hens. They do have sheltered places to go but somehow they spend enough time in the uncovered parts of their pens to become drenched. Saturated Silkies in particular look woeful. I am holding my breath for sunshine.

The preschoolers arrived in a funny mood today. It may have been the cold, or the barometric pressure, but one of them actually cried when his mother left. That has not happened since September. They were hesitant to set up trains, or blocks, and a few were shy about making cards for their Mother's day gifts. Everyone was off kilter, though things got smooth enough for some silly singing at circle time. 

My co teacher reminded me that there are 88,000 people in Alberta, Canada who would trade everything they own for the rain that is pelting down on us now. As it is, many have already lost their shirts to the raging fires that have gobbled their neighborhoods.  It made me look at the rain differently, which in scripture is often a symbol for blessings. Surely farmers throughout history have squinted their eyes at the heavens, praying for gray clouds. I had them in spades, and maybe it was more than an inconvenience. Maybe, just maybe, it would help the gardens flourish. 

There is a woman whose husband clocks excessive hours at work. She wishes he could steal away to their son's baseball games, or help with bedtime. But his job is demanding at this time of year, and most of the parenting falls on her. A different couple is wading through the uncertainty of unemployment. His company downsized, and his department fell out the bottom. Perhaps they would jump at the opportunity to work weekends. 

A woman who is feeling swamped at the prospect of a third baby told me that she cannot get her head above water. The dishes and laundry have exploded with the last bout of sickness, and she is not exactly primed to knit booties. Yet her sister in law has struggled with infertility for eight years. Having listened to her agonizing ordeals with invasive procedures just to conceive one precious child, my friend is holding her overwhelm gingerly. 

It can swivel my head to realize that someone else wants precisely what I have.