Because sometimes love is a pot of hot water

I guess Brian & I were like any typical teenage couple. We couldn't be together enough, couldn't be apart too long, couldn't wait to spend the rest of our lives together. Well, maybe that last one was just me. I jest. Maybe.
At any rate, the things we defined as love in our teens were different from the things we defined as love in our twenties were different from things we defined as love in our thirties and all those were even different from what we define as love now, as one of us has already begun their forties. Getting married so young meant literally growing older and growing up together if we really meant those words we said that day twenty-one years ago.
Love in our teens was very typical for young love. Lots of romance & gifts. Long calls on the long distance phone. (You'll have to look that one up kids....) Handwritten notes & cards. Boxes with trinkets commemorating our "anniversaries". Then, we got married.
Now, for those of you that know us now, you might be shocked to know that love in our twenties meant lots of fighting & just staying with it. Those first years together as husband and wife are years that I would never go back and live again. But they have made me, made us, who we are today. Gifts turned into packages of diapers. Dates turned into bill money. With alternating schedules, handwritten notes looked more like something a teacher would send home - "Today I really could have used your help but I know you'll try better next time. ♡" The heart meant to mask the dripping sarcasm & passive aggressive tone, of course. Baby one, baby two, baby three and even baby four arrived during that oh so fun time as arguments about money & "quality time" filled the air of the 1050sq ft home we made. Our thirties couldn't come fast enough.
By the time they arrived, patterns & routines had been established. We both realized either the money was there or it wasn't & the one person we fought with about it was the one person on the same team. We only had one year of diapers & sleepless nights left. We could do this! And so, we did. Gifts started re-emerging again but they looked a little different. Instead of flowers & chocolates, a crockpot was great! Forget the jewelry, I never wear it anyway. I want a vacuum cleaner that works please. You want to watch another football game? Ok. But the best gift of all? Who would take the first shower. Before we knew it was even happening, love went from something we were doing to something we simply were being. Being aware. Being available. Being second.
Now, as we've (almost) entered this new decade together, love again is different. Some days it is - Really, sports again? Other days it's a text with a picture of a penned on wedding ring and an "Oops, look what I forgot today." Gifts today are wonderful, cherished Symphony bars. Love looks like the trash taken to the end of the driveway or dinner actually ready when he gets home. Grooves & routine are just that. Habit. We are set. But then there are those moments when love goes above & beyond, taking me back to where it all began.
For me, this week, those moments have strung together. Steriod injections Monday warranted flowers & an early birthday card that made me cry when I got home that night. Tuesday it was the quality time I was given to recuperate by having the whole day off while he filled my homeschool mom shoes. With a storm Wednesday morning, we divided and conquered - Brian cooked dinner & I searched for flashlights, batteries, fans & other basic supplies. But we're (almost both) in our forties now. Thursday would be different.
I, thinking I was being the selfless one, sent him to gma's to take his shower. I would have a simple bath here, at our house, by warming pots of water outside on the burner. So selfless, right? But I watched as one stockpot, two stockpots, three stockpots, FOUR STOCKPOTS were warmed & carried for me to the bathtub. With temps in the high 70s & a humidity of 85%, the shower he had taken an hour before had been pointless. But there he was, not complaining a bit, even when the plug drained & he started all over again.
You see, sometimes love IS flowers & chocolates. Sometimes it's diapers & there's a whole lot of crying, from everyone. Sometimes it's in realizing you're on the same team & dividing to conquer. But sometimes, love looks like a pot of hot water. Gentle filled, lovingly poured out, refilled again & again.
There was nothing for him to gain from that constant pouring out other than the smile on my face. For me, it was the reminder that sometimes I think I'm being selfless but love is really about being poured out, over and over again. Even when I don't want to, even when it's uncomfortable, even when I think I've done my fair share. Love, true love, is always about being poured out.

Living a marathon life in a sprint paced world

The fact that I was laying in bed on a heating pad Tuesday evening at 630 probably did not surprise my husband a bit. The fact that I was staring at my phone with tears rolling down my face, again, probably did not surprise him either. But the words - I don't want to be me anymore - flashed a saddened look across his face. It wasn't that I didn't want to be me anymore. He knew the words that came out mouth were just a cover as I attempted to deal with the flood of emotions I was trying to suppress from the day. The pain from the day was just more than I could bare at that moment.
Seventeen years ago we made the somewhat unpopular decision for me to stay at home with our kiddos - well at least the one we had at the time. All worlds were rocked two years later when we announced that we would be a granola-eating, grain-grinding, cotton-weaving homeschool family. Ok, I jest. Although I really do like granola.
Perhaps one of the biggest lessons for me in this homeschooling journey has been to pace myself. When we first started, school looked a lot like I had plucked it out of its public school atmosphere & duplicated it at home. Teaching posters lined our kitchen & the crates of books, workbooks & worksheets probably cost us, globally, a small forest. There was a strict schedule outlined on the wall, complete with a clock mounted next to it. Now, before all my vet homeschool mommy friends pee on themselves in absolute hysterics, remember your first years. Remember that new-to-this-journey mom that you know & take her a cup of coffee today, ok?
At that to say, FOR MOST HOMESCHOOLERS, the sprint paced public school model either constantly drives them crazy or they succumb to a new way of life. Homeschooling children is no sprint. Most vet homeschool moms would tell you that attempting to duplicate what we've always understood education to look like just doesn't work in their world. And that's ok! I spent 13 years in the public school system, got an excellent education (at least well enough to homeschool my own children, right?) & do not think that homeschooling is the right education mode for all families. (Yes, I'm an oddball even in my granola eating world!)
But for us, the ability to homeschool our family has meant more than a simple academic education. It is a way of life. For us, it is a slllloooowwww way of life. And we've lived that way, not because we're just to lazy to be more involved (although......), but because we've been extremely intentional in our activities. With all of the opportunities out there for homeschoolers today, we could EASILY fill our schedule 6 days a week, 8 hours a day. That's just not who the Fosters are.
So when a friend texts me and asks me to visit at a time when her world has been stripped out from under her, academic education takes a backseat. When a young momma reaches out because she feels lost & forgotten in the middle of reading Treasure Island, I slip away & cry through the next few hours with her. When math & history & science were spread across every surface of the livingroom & kitchen table but gma just wanted to show us the hummingbirds, math, history & science stayed where they were as we slipped our boots on & headed out the back gate.
It's not that homeschooling is better, it's just different. And it's caused me to live differently.
Sprinters train by studying the technique of their individual strides, constantly trying to lengthen each pace & keep their posture straight so as not to lose their balance. Marathoners train by finding their lactic acid threshold & running at or near it for an hour or better so that their body builds a tolerance to the lactic acids their muscles are emitting. One isn't better than the other, they're just different and serve different purposes.
Every person in my family would tell you that the past three years now have been the most difficult marathon we've ever run together. There has been plenty of training as we joke about survival not being a lifestyle but a mode to get you through a time. There has been no time between situations to examine pacing techniques nor any desire to lengthen our steps.
This is our marathon. And with God as our trainer, we have been held at the threshold of what seems like "I can't take one more step" for a very long time. No, what we're going through isn't enjoyable. No, it's really not a comfort to hear you say, "It's such a blessing to see how faithful you guys are being." Honestly, we're tired. Each and every one of us is tired.
BUT when we look back & see the endurance that God has built in us over the past three years, we can all say - I'm not who I was. There's a strength there that wasn't before. There's a fortitude that only threshold training could build.
So as I continue to make conscious decisions about the busyness I allow into my life, I temper it with the ability to continue running at my threshold. No, I don't want to go shopping; I'd rather be available to sit at Chili's & cry with a friend for three hours. No, I don't want for my kids to be involved in more activities; I'd rather spend a couple of hours in the garden with them & my aunt everyday. No, I don't want to nail another schedule to the wall; I want to teach my kids how to run the marathon that will be their life, learning along the way. I want them to run with the Trainer we can trust as he pushes us past our limit so that our endurance in him can grow.
It's not that I don't want to be me. It's that sometimes "me" feels the burn of my muscles while my endurance grows. I'd much rather feel that burn though than forever stay the me that I am now.

You're done ladybug

This is actually a pre-blog writing I shared a year ago today. 

This past Saturday night I wanted my momma's advise on my Monday night lesson. Honestly, this isn't at all new - I frequently want my momma's advise and frequently I want it about my lesson. On the surface, there was really nothing new about what was going on. But really there was.
We live on a compound - well, l use "compound" loosely. With conjoining properties, gma, mom & dad, Brian & I and Jeff all live within "I need a roll of toilet paper now!!!" distance. I printed my lesson, slipped on my rubber boots, trekked through the lot next door, checked on our garden, and meandered my way to gma's house.
Now, to all of those people who are taken back by the idea that a 92yrs old woman lives by herself, I scoff. Why did I go to gma's? Because my momma & gma have a routine every Saturday night. Gma's not winning any marathons and honestly, her strength has decreased more than I would like to admit to myself over the past month but mom & gma's routine is for gma to be able to have a bath - as long as she wants - and to have her hair curled afterward. She's just not strong enough to do it all alone.
My plan was to have mom read my lesson and leave so that I wasn't in the way when gma got done. But the older I get, the more I realize, things don't always go the way that I have them planned in my head. Gma got done WAY earlier than I thought she would. So I sat at the kitchen table, wondering if I should leave. Then I heard my momma call me. She needed help with something that was just out of her reach. I handed it to her and resumed my place at the table, now waiting to see if there was anymore help that was needed. Another five minutes or so went by and then my gma called to me.
I walked into her room & stood at the end of her bed. All of the activity seemed to have taken the strength out of her. Over the next 30-45 minutes, I stood there in that room, soaking in EVERY SINGLE SECOND. The thought that one day it would be me on the floor, rubbing the lotion in on my momma's tired, frail feet & legs was almost too much to hold the tears back. "You're done ladybug," words that I will remember for a long time to come - even though they will mean nothing to anyone else. I watched in amazement as they had this whole routine down with the comb and the curlers and the bobbie pins. Momma knew right where every curler went. And gma remembered exactly which curlers had been a gift from my gpa. "Ok Ms Butt, you're done." I giggled at their silliness. Ms Butt, Ms Burt - ha!
It was only a silly bath & momma was only curling gma's hair like she's done every Saturday for the past year. But the humility that my gma has shown in loosing some of her independence is a testimony of her confidence in who she is. And she'll tell you - She's a child of The King.
And my momma. The gentleness and tenderness that I watched that evening - she wasn't rushed or hurried or just doing it because she had to. She was serving her momma just because she loves her. She was pouring out all of that grace and mercy on the same tired and weary feet that had carried her all those years ago.
So on a weekend when my own family had left me feeling overlooked and unappreciated, God again gave me a small glimpse of who he is....who I'm supposed to be. God is faithful and he is loving. Jesus demonstrated humility that goes beyond all human comprehension. He is gentle and he is tender. And this time, he used two of the women I hold most dear, and a bath, to show me.

The day I had to face it - I can't do everything

As much as I share things, as much as I try to see God at work in every situation so that I can share His goodness, there are still things that I keep ultra personal. A lot of it is I simply LOATHE being the center of attention so I don't draw any purposefully. Other times I just don't want to be treated differently or be reminded about what's going on.
This fall though, with the intensity life provided, the pain I've felt in my back, as far back as I could remember, became unbearable. I took handfuls of ibuprofen and naproxen on a regular basis. I wore Thermacare heat packs until my back was covered in blisters. I would have to take a few days off then start the cycle again. I slept on heating pads & even got a jack for the car so it could travel with me. The occasional numbness in my right thigh moved down my leg until it finally reached my toes & became constant. Life gave me no option to slow down at the time nor would I go back & change a single decision that I made.
Then momma tried to hug me one night. I recoiled because the blisters hadn't quite healed from the day before. My secret was exposed. She made me promise that night to make an appointment when "life settled down a bit". I went to the doctor in January and ended up at the neurosurgeon last week.
I was faced with the reality that the damage done to the discs in my back meant no more "just push through it", no more slap a heat pack on & get to it, no more mowing my yard, no more running. No more running. But all that news also meant that it wasn't just in my head, as most people with chronic pain fear. I've never had a doctor tell me that I don't take enough medicine. Then again, I've never had a doctor tell me, at only 39 years old, that I will have to have multiple discs in my back replaced in the foreseeable future. There was a lot to take in at that appointment. A lot that would need to be processed.
The kids' science fair is this weekend though so let's just get through it, right? No. Tomorrow morning I begin treatment, for what I thought was all in my head, with steriod injections to prepare for the next phase of treatment. I'm not afraid of the appointment or the procedure, I just don't have time for it. I don't have time to be down. I'm still trying to recuperate from all the time off we took this fall. Then you tell me that I can't sweep or vacuum anymore? I'm a stay at home mom, doc. Sweeping & vacuuming ARE my job. Cleaning, mowing & running are my healthy coping techniques. I felt lost. I feel lost. With everything else our family is facing, I'm barely hanging on.  
Enter a tiny ballerina. Pig's ballet class is early on Monday afternoons. I confess that because of the craziness that has been life lately, I drop her off & return to pick her up two hours later. I haven't actually seen her ballet routine this semester, nor had I heard the song until she jumped in the car following class.
"Momma, you have to hear what Ms Whitney chose to be our ballet song!" Before I go any further, Ms Whitney didn't know anything that was going on in our lives until that evening. She, nor my precious Piggy, knew how much I had been struggling that morning, holding back tears & whispering the conversation I was having with God - Please calm my heart. Please calm my heart. I'm so anxious & all these things.....I just need Your reassurance.
I listened as Pigs fumbled with my phone, trying to find the song on YouTube. She plugged my phone into the car's sound system and I listened as the piano began to play. I recognized the song, I've even blogged about it before. But it hadn't been where my heart went that morning.

Be still my soul
The Lord is on your side
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain
Leave to thy God to order and provide
In everything, He faithful will remain.

Tears began to roll down my face as my whispers had a very tangible answer now. I sang along until I got to the bridge. This was a new version to me so I just listened.

In You I trust, In You I found my hope
In You I trust, You never let me go.
I place my life within Your hands alone.
Be still, my soul

Calm my heart. That was what I had whispered.  I'll never let you go. That was God's loving response.
The only way my whispers could have been answered more tangibly would have been for me to have seen the spiritual battle that was going on around me. The oppression. The depression. The lies.
Before the piano stopped playing, that ball in the pit of my stomach was gone. I felt like I had a little more breathing room. My situation hadn't changed at all. My limitations were still in place. I still face reality that the three things that calm me the most will no longer be the activities I can go to for solitude. My heart, my trust, my hope had been redirected by my head. But only temporarily. My head & hands felt lost, & they probably will for a while, but my heart had been refocused.  
Chronic pain is a rollercoaster. Those that suffer do so quietly for the most part. Why? Because complaining doesn't change their reality and sympathy doesn't help their situation. The physical pain is rivaled only by the emotional. Everyday is a battle as they want to, & think they should be able to, do everything. The battle that goes on within themselves is exhausting & most of the time they're on the verge of just giving up. Then the anxiety of giving up ties them in knots as they think about all they're not doing. Their level of self expectation is higher than any that is imposed on them.
The truth is NONE OF US, chronic pain or not, CAN DO EVERYTHING! In those moments when I'm threatened to be swallowed up by what I'm not doing, I have to trust that God will never let me go. My hope isn't found in all those tasks that are now off limits anyway. My hope is in the One who never changes. He has no limitations. He can take my rollercoaster days & still my soul. I have to leave it to Him to order my days & provide everything that I need - not everything that I want, but that I need to grow.

Even when my focus shifts, He is faithful to remain.

It was my turn to drive

I was born on my daddy's 24th birthday. Back before the days of ultrasounds & pink baby showers, before dads were allowed in the delivery rooms, I'm told he anxiously awaited my arrival with his ear to the door. When he returned to that family filled room, he didn't say a word but was smiling like the Cheshire Cat, enjoying the momentary secret about the pinkness that had just entered the world. I have from that day, and will always be, my daddy's little girl. 
For months this fall, I enjoyed an evening ride home from gma's with him & Buster the wonder dog. Following gma's journey Home, there was a large adjustment period as those rides quickly ceased. So how then would it escape me that tonight would be the beginning of another journey in which I would drive him home for the first time?
It's no secret that Gma P isn't doing well. The long term steriod use for a rare type of pneumonia has caused some neuropathy in her spinal column. Neuropathy we prayed would be alleviated by a procedure two weeks ago. But that just isn't the case. Fortifying one vertebra meant compromising those surrounding it. And here we are, two weeks later, in the same amount of pain, in a different location. An emergency MRI was ordered this afternoon.
Because of the events of the day, it would be necessary for someone to stay the night with Gma P. Momma. But that meant daddy would need a ride home. As I drove the 8 miles to her house, flashbacks of this fall filled my mind & flooded my eyes. Here we are again.
There are still many unknowns with Gma P's future but one thing we do know is that we are quickly approaching the point that she cannot live alone anymore. Moving her means moving life itself. The house she's lived in her entire adult life was lovingly & painstakingly built by Gma P, Gpa P & her dad. Each floor board & attic beam was hand chosen. This is not just a house that she's lived in but literally a home that she built.
As I drove home tonight, with daddy & Buster the wonder dog in the passenger seat of my car, I relished the time we were again having alone together. Only this time it would be different. It was his mom. They were his thoughts we processed and my fears he listened to this time.
I don't know what the future holds for us but I do know that this time it will be my daddy that needs me. I've never known that feeling before. He's always been my hero. He's always been invincible. He's always been my rock. How can I ever be his?
By doing what I've always done.
A friend of mine started my day with a text send by God himself through her. It was a picture of our lesson notes from the bible study we attend together. - "The most commonplace activities - if done for Christ through the Holy Spirit - are of eternal significance. Every thought, all your prayer, the smallest of acts, though imperfect, become as fine linen that adorns you as Christ's eternal bride."
By loving Jesus enough to sacrifice the things I want, the time I don't have, the gas to drive home so that I can do those commonplace things for Gma P & daddy means that I can be one of his rocks. Because it's in the commonplace things that eternal significance is made.

In four years time

Call me a little slow but as much as I've been looking forward to Leap Day, when Facebook popped up with memories from only four years ago I was a little confused. "You mean I've done nothing in this day in the past four years?" Of course I haven't! This "extra day" only comes around that often.
I had already determined a few weeks ago that Foster Academy would be closed for the day. Instead we would spend the day however we pleased, making memories along the way. Today was mostly spent being lazy, although we did cash in $25.60 worth of aluminum cans. Then it hit me - a time capsule! We could make a time capsule.
In four years, my two middle guys will both be seniors. In four years, my oldest will be 24 and probably out of the house. In four years, I'll only have four years left with my baby girl.
An empty paint can would do the trick. I told the kids I wanted them to all write letters to their future selves. "About what mom?" the question was asked. My reply then opened a discussion my Leap Day celebration hadn't prepared for - "How about your favorite color? Or what you're learning right now? What your favorite thing to do is? Or who you think will be president?" My youngest son's question then took me back, "Or how our hearts have been broken?"
Yes, I want them to write about that. I want them to process their heartbreak and hurt over missing their great gma. I want them to write about how anxious they are about the things that are effecting their lives. I want them to remember, in four years, the pain, the sorrow, the anxiety. I want them to remember because in four years they'll be completely different people who need to see that life isn't always what it was, nor will it always be that.
I thought back to four years ago before Gma B fell the first time or Aunt Suzie's cancer had metastasized or Gma P had pneumonia. I thought about a time before I had an adult child & was in the blows of his teenage years. A time before football or theater or ballet. I thought about a time when I thought life would always be like it was. Then I thought about today.

Dear 43 year old self,
The past few years have been very tough. And some days it seems that there's very little sun on the horizon. It's so easy to lose focus and give in to this sinking feeling that this is the way that things will always be. But if the past few years have taught me nothing else, they've taught me that life will not always be like this.
Undoubtedly right now, in 2016, we're in a season of sorrow that slowly lingers on. Soon there will be days of joy, days of smiles and laughter, days of celebration and new lives to welcome. The sorrow you felt for those long years in between were used to handcraft you into the person you are today, the one reading this letter. You've said, "I'll see you soon," to some of the most important people in your life and today that day you will see them again is one day closer.
The missed calls and texts will still sting. The birthdays will be hard and the holidays bittersweet. But before those tears filling your eyes escape and make their way to this paper, think back on God's faithfulness during that time. Think back on that peace you couldn't describe with words. Think back on those times when the darkness could be felt and remember that still small voice that shouted into it, "I AM still here. Right here with you. Focus on Me. Give me that yoke and take Mine. I'll give you rest. I'll mount you up on eagles wings so that you soar. I'll give you strength to run when you are weary. I'll carry you when you cannot walk so that you won't faint." That voice still calls to you today.
So 43 year old self, no matter what is going on in our life right now, be it good or bad, remember it won't always be like this. Those two young men set to walk across the stage in two months will still need their momma in three. That wonderful young man who would sacrifice his own happiness just to make his momma smile at 20 still loves you that much at 24, even if he doesn't say it as much anymore. That precious little Piggy is nearing the time when she'll assert her independence from you - don't take it personally. She'll be your best friend one day. That man you married loves you enough to have put up with you for 25 years. Thank him. Love him, even when he can't love himself. Stop what you're doing today & have dinner with your parents, they won't be here forever.
And thank God for those sorrowful times because they made us understand that life won't always be what it is today. Remember He has been so faithful through it all. He's been right here with us this whole time, sometimes holding our hand, sometimes carrying us but always giving us strength for what He's told us to do.

I went and got your mail today but you weren't home

Compounding life is so very different. I can remember growing up all of the Saturdays & Sundays when we would load the car up for the day & drive the 10 minutes to my grandparents' houses. It would be an all day affair. We would come home completely exhausted but thoroughly happy. Life for my own children has been very different.
This small 4 acres of land has been their home since before they were born. My gma moved into her house on the homestead 13 years ago. The younger kids have no recollection of the old 40 acre homestead that my cousins & I, like our parents & aunts & uncle before us, roamed until the car horn sounded the "It's time to go".
Compounding is different than spending all day once a week together, it is living life together. "You need toilet paper? Ok, be right there." "But I really thought I had two more eggs..." Going to get gma's mail has been a staple since her fall two years ago. Most days she'd call & ask for one of the kids then they'd slip their shoes on & head out the back gate. Momma has been getting gma's mail lately. 
Yesterday my parents finally made a break for it though. They packed up the car & drove out to meet the sun on the horizon. Momma retired eight months ago & the furthest they'd been together was the grocery store yet even that trip together had been quite rare.
I rushed through my errands yesterday morning desperately trying to return before they drove off but my phone rang just as I turned to head out of town. "We're pulling out of the driveway now," came daddy's voice over the airwaves. Sure I was disappointed but I had been the one pushing them to go. I couldn't ask them to wait now just so that I could tell them goodbye.
Our conversation wrapped up after a few more instructions from momma and my eyes filled with tears as I fumbled for the "end call" button. The realization that I was now the one responsible for life in our little compound was simply overwhelming. Never before had I been the only adult female, let alone the oldest one. I was anxious. I was scared. I was lonely and perhaps the saddest I'd been in a while. What I wouldn't have given to have just heard gma's voice, "You can do this. We've prepared you. And, pssst, you're not really alone."
The fact that my aunt lives three streets away & we had made plans with her for today helped tremendously. The reply to my SOS prayer request to my friend gave me great comfort too. Then there would be a text with an attached recording.
I was so very excited at the idea of hearing my cousin's two baby boys that I hit the play button before I could fully prepare myself. "Laura, it's Mawmaw. I just wanted to call & tell you that you're special and I love you very much."
It was the first time I had heard that voice since October 17. I hadn't mustered the courage to listen to my own voicemails yet. Although she clearly said my cousin's name, she was speaking to me too.
Momma & I have been talking lately about people that need a "phone call from God". A phone call to calm them & reassure them that He's still in control. That He loves them & sees exactly right where they are. I didn't know that I, myself, needed a phone call but apparently He did. And though I didn't hear His voice on the other end of that recording, I heard the voice of one who constantly pointed me back to Him. The most amazing woman who always told each of her children, grandchildren & great-grandchildren how special we were, how much she adored each of us & how much her love for us paled in comparison to His. That recording I didn't have time to prepare for would be the medicine my soul needed to push through this weekend.
After we got home from my aunt's today, I walked over to get momma & daddy's mail then gma's since momma wasn't home. I could hear the TV in the livingroom playing one of those sappy AMC movies we always watched together. I unlocked the door with my bundle of junk mail & let myself in. I sauntered over to the kitchen table & placed this pile next to the other ones. I bent down & took a drink straight from the kitchen faucet, like I always had, then checked on the Christmas cactus. I walked to her bedroom door & choked back tears as I peered into the emptiness.
I thought about sitting on the bed for a few minutes but my kids were at home alone. I turned & walked to the backdoor. I quietly muttered, "I went & got your mail Mawmaw. But I guess you're not home here."
As I stepped out on the back porch & turned the key, I glanced across the field to momma & daddy's back door with tears rolling down my face. Standing there, all alone, those words resonated in my soul, only from a different voice - "Tiffany, I just wanted to call you & tell you how very special are you. I love you very much. Never forget who you are. You, my precious daughter, are a child of the King. And you're never alone."