Danette Martin writes: “You’ve been on my mind ever since I heard the news of your dad’s engagement. Twenty-four years ago, I was in your shoes.”
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 just purged my house, nesting, frenetically sorting through every closet, every drawer, to remove all that we don’t need. And now I am buying more.
Sometimes all your ideals fly out the window because it’s two a.m. and your baby will not settle, and you’ve already been out of bed six times, trying to shush her before she wakes her brother, but now it’s too late because he’s fussing too. And his bed is wet.
You may become an adult who knows how to draw wayward teenagers back toward love. You may become the kind-hearted grandma at church who asks to rock a colicky baby for his frazzled new mom. You may become the sort of person who walks toward difficult children instead of away from them.
You will gain the ability to predict pain, misunderstanding, and offense. You will know when the people you love are about to get hurt, and you will be able to move the earth to prevent it. You will sense it coming. You will become the Great Defender, the diffuser of dangerous situations.