Somedays I wake up plumb exhausted. I mean, before I’ve even rolled out of bed, I
can feel it. The truth is, it isn’t
simply body-tired…it’s that my heart is tired.
My soul is weary.
So, I realized that there is a thread of seriousness to my
recent posts…and while that’s good and all, sometimes it’s important to
remember to come up for air. Perhaps
it’s because our life is (generally) anything but serious. Most days, the hardest thing we face is
whether anyone’s sock is crooked in their shoe. That and when the mailman is
coming because my kids think getting junk mail is a pretty big deal. They act like its Christmas or something. –we’ve
really gotta get out more – (Merp.)
I digress. Anyway, I have decided
to list a few confessions – ya’ know –
just to keep me humble and give me something to cringe about a few weeks from
now…
Sometimes you unexpectedly meet a person and you find
yourself face to face with what it means to be broken. This day, four years ago, I met our firstborn
son in a most unexpected way and since that time, brokenness has been my theme.
This is an excerpt of
what I wrote one year after Parker was born and buried. At the time I wrote this, I was carrying our
second child. This is part one.