I meant to say in the post before that what I am afraid to say in writing about some pulse so near to my heart is EXACTLY what I used to urge my students to do. If you can push through the fear of weeping on a dusty white keyboard, a journal page, and write your experience aloud, you have then written well. It demands courage to be vulnerable and the bliss that follows with remarkable release. The reader, too, then gains a sense of pathway to know and sympathize with you and once there is an identification of "ahhh, you have felt that too!", there is a way to be brother and sister. If I let you in on my groaning, your quiet groaning seems less hopeless. I feel so convinced of that.

While we are adding a bedroom for Mya to the back of our home and my belly is pushing outward on my sundresses, my mother is in her pink top and shorts exercising with the physical therapists. She reminds me each time i visit that she is well, that she is just a lap or so from finishing this trial. She hasn't once questioned why. She has been a remarkable student.

The girls are finishing up the year at Antioch and it's the last year that they will all be in the same school together. I think people wonder how you can offer enough attention to multiple children and I thought the same thing last night as i made bedtime rounds to their cheeks and sides. My heart only grows larger, my capacity for multiplied love expanding like a hummingbird vine. I don't attempt to slot time for each daughter, i can barely keep myself from them all the time. And Love, in charge of my day and night, gives me grace to love in a tiny way as He loves.