It was Sunday and we were ready. Early! The babe was in his brand-new fall overalls and my girls were color-clad. Caleb had time to find his belt. I didn’t just curl my hair, I wore lipstick and put on perfume too.
We walked into church and they were singing my song. Rather than being hurried and frantic (as it so often is from scooting seven bodies out the door and into our rusty suburban full of wrappers from yesterday’s lunch), my heart was open to receive.
This Sunday was ours. Golden.
Then, less than one song in, she melted.
Many days, I forget their history — their orphaned years — until I’m blind-sided by an unexpected moment like this and it all {Continue Reading Over Here –>}
