mourning the babies not laid to rest in dignity and improperly honored but not unforgotten, and heart-sore for their mothers, tired, alone, heaped with shame and scared. Dear Lord, give mercy.
struggling to not allow my heart to harden or my soul to surrender to the evils around
seeking a restoration song
playing with puzzles under the crib with a certain little boy
noticing the summer blooms throughout the neighborhood; hello, crepe myrtle!
smelling homemade pizza dough
wishing to hold baby Annie in San Diego; Way to go, Sims!
reading Jesus Feminist and thinking I need to read it ten more times before it sinks deep
writing our daily routines for Spring 2014 (inspired by Pink Ronnie's series)
being encouraged by this: "I know you’re trying to stand out and make an impact and not waste any bit of life... you have so much time." (Read the rest here)