Even when we say, “Oh, God” or “Oh, my God” or plain old “God!” it’s a prayer of sorts. Whether we’re sharing grief, frustration, or joy, God hears us.
I know now parenting is not easy. As a child I didn’t understand my parents were who they were. Human beings with flaws and hopes and dreams and disappointments and baggage.
“What’s it like to be dead?” she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.
She tried to imagine it when he didn’t respond. She thought it would be cold. Lonely. Much like her life now. She rubbed her arms as the breeze became a cold wind, gusting against her. She fell against Johnny’s stone, hugging it to keep herself upright.
“Children are not things to be molded but rather people to be unfolded.” I open the box of goodies my daughter has sent me for Mother’s Day and delight in the surprises she’s included. My attempts to cook after I’ve had a glass or two of wine are legendary in…