I was twenty-four when we packed up the U-haul truck on a blistering hot day in July. Sweat trickled down my back as we hefted the last of the cardboard boxes into the truck. We locked the front door of the white, 1920’s bungalow we’d bought two years prior. The for-sale sign still stood in…
Longing
You Were Made to Yearn
It’s a bitterly cold night for December. My kids are in bed, the house is warm and quiet, the lights are turned out except for the twinkle lights which I’ll miss come January. It’s the kind of night that I love. Everything in me should feel content. Some long-awaited answers to years of hard praying…