This is a true story.
There is a farmer who goes into a workshop every day. In this workshop he makes perfectly wooden spheres. This is a very complicated task requiring knowledge of hypotenuse’s and cosines and other geometric terms whose meanings escape me.
This gentleman, while known for his wooden spheres, is also known for what happens on his farm. People of all walks of life, going through various struggles from homelessness to drug addiction and just failing to thrive as an adult, come to his farm. They spend time there, they work there, and they get better.
He doesn’t advertise any special service. He isn’t a rehabilitation center. His farm is just known as a place where you can go when you’re feeling broken and in need of repair.
The successful rehabilitation of formerly broken individuals attracted the attention of local mental health professionals. They visited, observed, took notes, tracked progression and came away with their results.
It wasn’t what they did on the farm. There was no group therapy or special diet. The secret was in the woodshed with those spheres.
The farmer told them, “Every day, I go into that workshop and I work my will on those wooden spheres. That wood bends, and is sanded and carved to do what I want it to do. When I leave there, I don’t try to work my will on any of those people.”
Apparently, my friend, who works in the mental health field, felt I needed to hear this story. She had listened to me explain that if only my kids would do what I know what would be good for them, everyone would be happy.
I truly felt I knew what was right for my kids. Okay, if I’m being honest, I still do– I’m just more open to believing they too might have some insight into what’s right for them as well.
It’s taken me awhile, but I get it. Kids aren’t wooden spheres. I need a separate workshop where I get to “work my will” Lately, it’s been drawers. And cabinets. And closets. And spinning/barre classes, although in those classes, I might be the wooden sphere.