What to say. Oh, what to say. More often than not, my words fail me (hence the need to type them out once my brain has had a chance to connect with my tongue). A few months back, my husband took the pulpit to preach to our small, faithful congregation that meets each Sunday morning
This. Every morning, this. I could wake up seventy thousand more times, roll out of bed, scramble to find a mismatched pair of socks, and throw on an oversized, overworn sweatshirt before hobbling out to the thrift store couch (where no less than four little ones will soon find me) and never tire of it.
I wasn’t always this person. But don’t remind me of that. A decade ago – I was much, much different. Those of you who have read my testimony (part two here) can… well… attest to that. I’m not going to tell you who I was because I don’t want you to know her. But this past
A wee bit back, Stuart and our oldest two littles headed off to North Carolina to visit family. Originally, when the trip was planned, I was a zillion months pregnant and couldn’t bare the thought of traveling with no less than four little ones. Throw into that decision the eighty nine animals here reliant on
It’s funny, being a blogger. I get to share pieces of my life with an almost anonymous audience, set somewhere out in the world wide web. And yet here you are… praying for me… encouraging me… challenging me. You know that Stuart hates beans. And you know that I have two uteri. I mean, come