He just hangs out in the backround.  It doesn't really matter to him if no one pays any attention to him.  He pretty much takes what comes, and sits silently through it if that is what's to be.  There is no worry for me, that he will call me up and complain that I didn't do this or that, or how I should pick up my socks or else.  He doesn't freak out when the kids leave toys on every available surface.  He doesn't hound them to finish their green beans.  There are no moments where it's all about him.

How can I be so arrogant to think that I didn't make him crazy.  How could I try and convince him ever so harshly, that he was already crazy before he met me.  Surely if I feel myself pushing against anything with force, I know today, that I have the whole problem with me in my hands, tangibly laid out for me to tackle.  It's simple really, if I chose to let it be simple... and just do what is my HP's will for my life. 

I am accepting a little bit more deeply today, the depths of my own mental illness.  The gratitude that I feel is overwhelming as more is revealed for me.  What a gift.  I'm always busy, always occupied with something He will show me how to make more true and beautiful like the gracefully flowing Chippewa River outside my farm, breaking free from the ice. 

The ice clears, new creatures emerge from their mothers, the birds return to sing and bask in the beauty that is Wisconsin in the summer, after a long harsh season.  My heart mimicks as best it can, the effervescent qualities of spring, after a long harsh season, and I am bubbling over with glee and gratitude.