His storm rolled in on the heels of a decision I made that he didn’t like. These storms he goes through always lead to dark places for this boy. First, he got mouthy. After ignoring a warning to take a step away from the situation, he went in for the attack, his words aiming to wound.
The door slammed as boys clambered out of the car. And gave me my first full breath since my guys had awakened on this battle-of-the-wills morning. Sniping and snarking had sapped my joy and irritation had replaced it.
God tried to get my attention with a beautiful sunrise, but one boy had already been snappish by then, and I ignored the colors.
Well, not totally.
By Jeanne Takenaka
When we were deep into our walk in infertility, I struggled with discontentment, I yearned for a child weighting down my arms down. A wee one to nurture. It became my daily—no, hourly—prayer. My cry when my body revealed I was not pregnant. The sorrow and grief of being denied what my heart was designed to yearn for about broke me.