There is apple pie in the sunshine with apples from our own tree, and there is the radiant face of a child buried in corn.
What I lack in a history of sexual sin I make up for in a thousand other ways, as named here. I am greatly in need of grace.
We have been walking through difficult things this summer. His words feel redemptive, protective, perfect to me.
We do not want to be apart. For each member of our family, including him, this is the hardest part of our sacrifice. We love him, and he loves us.
I went to a Supper to taste the Christ, I was so hungry for him. So very hungry after months of vacuity, and when I received the bread he was suddenly there, in me.
With friends and needy and grieving and isolated and savoring, I went creative: the paintbrush and the hammer and the string making patterns I could follow.