You have a story too, we all do. Everywhere around us there is a story to unearth from beneath the surface of the obvious. But first, before we share them, let us find ourselves kneeling before the cross with these words wetting our lips and forever aligning our hearts with His purpose…

“But Mama…” And this is when his voice cracks and his bottom lip begins to quiver. “I don’t want to die.”

No matter the circumstance or context, when for the first time words of their own death pass from the lips of your child, your own heart stops beating for a moment or two.

The newborn days are a puzzle; an intimate game of mother and child figuring each other out. And this game–this season of such beauty–it begs for grace.

I roll the dough—small slightly-sticky balls between the palms of my hands—circle upon circle until a pristine orb results. I lay it gently in the bowl of crystals, roll again, coat complete, and place it in its designated spot on the sheet.

They are uniform, shiny, articulate, pristine, put-together—everything I at the moment am not.

Fasting is a spiritual practice. It is also a great coverup for a secret life of anorexia. I was hungry. We all are, and for much more than just food.

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