The clock is ticking.  The word for the day is “growing.”

Growing is going on all around me.  My pants are growing too large for me.  My son is growing at an alarming rate — he is 26 months old, and I swear, he is almost the entire length of his toddler bed.  We will transition into a totally big boy bed soon, I predict.

My knowledge about my job is growing — I have some really great mentors, and they graciously listen to my concerns, my venting, my questions, and my opinions.

I experience some kind of growing pain almost every day it seems.  I am trying to be more mindful of those and to take them, wrap them up, file them, and make the insight I gain from the readily accessible in my brain.  For I know I would not be having those “pains” if it were not for a reason, so that I can be better as a person, as a helping professional, as a wife, as a mother.

Growing is not always easy.  It requires pruning and nurturing and guidance and relationships.  Whatever it is that is in the process of growing would wither away without any one of those things.  Or at least be stunted.  And who hasn’t that happened to?

Growing makes me think of an exercise that we did in one of my counseling classes at UNT.  The Rosebush Fantasy.  That’s a telling one.  Let me know if you’d ever like to do that one.

It could be a revelation.