"He lifted me out of the slimy pit,

out of the mud and mire;

he set my feet on a rock..." ~Psalm 40:2

Are you living for THIS?

A video for you. No matter where you are, no matter what country you live in, no matter what you do, Christian - are you living for THIS?





We also want to send out a BIG THANK YOU to all the people who support us (I feel we've been kind of bad at this, communicating it properly). In heart, with your words, with your prayers, with your example, with your finances. We could not be here without you.

THANK YOU.

No matter where we go, no matter what we do, no matter which country we live in, overseas "missionaries" or not - we are all called to live for Christ, in all we do. So thankful for the people, our examples, we know who do! Some people say we are an inspiration, but we know plenty ourselves! Truly. Thanks. :)

what is to become of those bricks

Marcela and Ceferino are rebuilding. This will be their new house.






I got to see on Saturday how it's coming along. The brick walls have now been raised as high as my hip.

Those bricks will come in handy as the night temperatures drop into 50s, soon into the 40s. [EDIT: Now 30s...]. Freezing. Right now they are sleeping in a temporary wood-slat house with only three walls and a tarp for a roof. Brrrrr.

"He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the LORD..." ~Proverbs 19:17



The Big 4-0!

^3-6 It is only when we obey God’s laws that we can be quite sure that we really know him. The man who claims to know God but does not obey his laws is not only a liar but lives in self-delusion. In practice, the more a man learns to obey God’s laws the more truly and fully does he express his love for him. Obedience is the test of whether we really live “in God” or not. The life of a man who professes to be living in God must bear the stamp of Christ. ~1 John 2:3-6 



Marcela's house





I recently became a member of the 40 Club. Officially Over the Hill. It should be easy from here on out, since it's all downhill from now on, right? I should rejoice that I'm still alive - and that I still fit into my jeans from High School (ha, don't hate). These are both miracles.

For my birthday weekend I wanted breakfast in bed, and to not wash a single dish or pick up a single toy. I'm really not that hard to please, really. I mean, really. How hard is that? You don't even have to spend money on me! I also wanted to go visit our friends in the slums, then visit our little friends in the children's home. Somewhere in between there my daughter and I tried to catch a meteor shower. We laid out under the stars in lawn chairs {in our winter jackets and scarves, boots, and gloves} well after midnight in search of shooting stars. It was partially cloudy, so we didn't see any of this spectacular meteor shower they had told us about. Tony came out for a bit and we searched the skies for the Southern Cross and the Three Mary's [aka Orion's Belt].

Good memories.

It was a birthday I will always remember. We spent most of it visiting: Saturday, the slums. Sunday, the children's home.

I don't like birthday parties. I just don't. Don't ask me why, I still haven't figured that out. I don't like going to them, I don't like throwing them, and I don't want one on my birthday. I prefer the quiet life, I guess - or to do something that is actually fun, instead of standing around small talking over cake. I'm not anti-social, just selectively social. B-day parties are not my gig... although I always get sucked into about a dozen a year or so.

So I managed to keep my birthday fairly secret, and off we went. I am often amazed how open people are to the gospel here. This weekend was no exception. When we arrived up in the slums, I sat in the car waiting for the okay to get out. We have a little thing we do: Tony pulls up, looks around, gets out, and says hi. He goes in, chats, and gets a feel for whether it is safe and whether we are welcome. As we pulled up Saturday, Cefe and his brother-in-law were just walking back to their shack. They were returning from buying beer. Tony talked with them for a bit, saw that they weren't drunk or on drugs at the moment, and then waved that it was okay to come in. We spilled out of the van, locked it, and went it.

It really is depressing how they live. It was chilly outside when we walked into their one room shack. The heat and claustrophobia hit me as I ducked in the place where the door should have been. It was so crowded with people and kids and animals that I couldn't even fully come inside. Tony said good thing I had a cold because it smelled like rotten food and animals. Little Sophia was sitting on the dirt floor in her filthy bare feet, her older brother Mishel was only in his underwear at the little table, Marcela and Cefe were there with her niece, her brother, and three or four of her kids, plus one nephew, several cats, and a dog. In a one-room shack. The wood stove was inches from the kids, blasting heat. Marcela says it get very cold at night when the stove burns out. I'm sure - it's getting down into the 30s right now at night. Brrrr...

Since I could barely stand in there, I went outside to watch the kids. Marcela's kids' bare feet are calloused over and they miraculously don't get cut up, but my kids, even with shoes, always seem to get hurt somehow. Marcela followed me out and we stood in her small, dirt front yard, just a patch of desert sand littered with trash and fruit peels and scrap metal and wood with nails sticking out of it. We talked. I really like Marcela, she is very friendly, warm,  and open with me. She began telling me how she can no longer take her brother and niece living with them, her husband's drug addiction, the kids home all day with her, or this emptiness in her heart. I told her it was normal to want to have some privacy, all families should have their own space. I shared how Tony and I used to have problems, big problems, in our marriage. She looked at me in disbelief with that, "Oh, not you" look. Oh, yes, me. I have a quite colorful past. There's a lot I don't tell people. Been there, done that. When she talks to Tony she thinks, "How does he do it? How is he okay all the time? Where does this peace come from that he seems to have?".

It's only God. That's all. That's the only difference.

I was able to share with her that that peace we have comes only from Jesus. We have just as many problems as they do, just different ones perhaps. I told her my story, I told her Tony's story. It was a blessed moment. A holy moment. God was there with us in the slums. Right there with us. She just looked at me. Like she understood. Like she wants that, too.

We talked for a while. She said she doesn't find purpose in life, no reason to get out of bed in the morning, she thinks of suicide often. No, don't do it, I said. Think of your kids. If Cefe has a drug problem, who would take care of them if she killed herself? I reminded her that Tony is more than willing to come up and help them finish raising the walls of their new house. Winter is coming. It's already very cold at night. Once the house is up, she could move into it with her own family, leaving the shack to her relatives. Think of how nice that would be! She's too depressed though it seems to find the motivation to raise the walls herself. I understand that. I probably would be too if I were her, living in that place, with no Hope. We left, telling her we are praying for her and will see her soon.

The next day, my birthday, we headed down to the children's home.




cakes!

 I don't like cake that much and I never want cake for my birthday, I even get somewhat annoyed if anyone wastes money on one I don't want to eat anyway (I know, such a party pooper. Tony says 'no fun'.). So I thought if we took my cake, the one I didn't want anyway but they always seem to buy no matter what, down to the kids' home, it would make the useless cake okay. Kids like cake. Our kids like cake. I like the children's home, but don't like cake. Problem solved.

We met some of the youth at church (they brought more cake), all piled into our van, and headed downtown. Played soccer, ate cake, talked to and hugged the kids. The kids all sang happy birthday to me. To me? I brought my cake for them, not for me. It was the sweetest. What a birthday present, these kids singing to me... it's so sad to think that their parents don't want them, or can't take care of them, or abused them. One of the girls ended up crying in a corner by herself. When we asked her what was wrong, she said she feels invisible. No one comes to visit her, no one loves her, she's so sad. It made me cry, too. My daughter came over and asked what was wrong. They know each other outside of the home - they both go to the same gym class (sports are free here in the city - one of God's many blessings). I explained to my daughter why her friend was crying, that she doesn't have a mom or dad that love her or take care of her. She looked at me like she didn't even understand that concept - no mom or dad, no love?? So, honey, Why don't you hug her and tell her you love her and you are her friend?

So she did. And we all cried some more.

Even though our time was up and we were supposed to leave, we continued talking to her, reminding her of God's promise, "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up." Psalm 27:10.

We shared the good news of God's love for her, and explained that although He does love her, God is gentleman. He wants to make her happy and to give her everything, but He will wait until she is ready, until she accepts what He wants to give her. We talked some more, and then she said she was ready. Keren prayed, she repeated. It was hard for her to get the words out, but she did it.


"...we are not to save souls, but to disciple them. Salvation and sanctification are the work of God’s sovereign grace" ~ Oswald Chambers

sunset on the way home from the children's home

 Whoever claims to live in him must live as Jesus did. -1 John 2:6 NIV

A blessed birthday weekend. In more ways than one.



Tony and I have talked a lot lately about how long we will be here. We have been going through a rough time. He always says don't worry, God will provide. I pray he is right, I pray for faith like his. We have talked about the possibility of having to return to the States because we can't afford to be here. We have accepted that as a possibility, but we hope it doesn't happen anytime soon. We are too busy. We are just getting started.

This week he went for the first time to a home for juvenile boys and showed the William Tyndale Torchlighters movie. {Sorry, they don't let you take pictures}. It was amazing and he was very well received. He'll be going back every other Tuesday night. With the gospel and Bible studies and love and hugs and more movies. To visit these kids that nobody wants in a place where no one is going right now. In talking to the director we have discovered that the kids are pretty bitter about the church. They say churches come once or twice to visit them and never come back. One boy's grandfather is a pastor. But, for whatever reason, they have left their grandson in a home for boys. Sometimes it doesn't matter what you say you are. It is what you do.


If you haven't seen the William Tyndale flick (it's only 30 minutes long) WATCH THE FULL MOVIE HERE! You won't regret it.


Some quotes from the movie I like...

"The Word of God is a light unto our path. It is for all the people to understand, and not for the church only.

I can not see how we can take it upon ourselves to withhold something that God has so freely

and intentionally given to us all?

By God's grace, I am as much a servant of the church, as the church serves God."

~ William Tyndale

Field Trip: El Chocón Dam

One of the things I love about homeschooling is being able to ditch the workbooks, seatwork, schedules, curriculum, dry textbooks (well, actually, we don't really do these), pencils, moans and groans, and head out the door for some hands-on, real life learning.

My kids (fortunately for me) love science, so we don't have to do a lot of pre-packaged science curriculum. My boy is almost totally self-taught in the area of science, to the point where my eyes start glazing over when he launches into his mini-collegiate lectures on Basilosauraus, Indricotherium, and Ichthyosaurs. But, because he is getting older and there are other branches of science - to which I believe they should be exposed - when I found out about the dam nearby, a light went on in my head.

SpringboardIntroductiontoHydroelectricity! Yeah!

(geeeek)

So, as soon as our car was released from Car Purgatory, we took off like a family of bats out of hell.

Off we sped to El Chocón Dam, an hour south of us out in the middle of the desert. We got the private tour of the inner workings because Omar, one of the pastors of the church we attend, works in the Control Room. It was soooooo cool. We learned a lot about hydroelectricity - very exciting!


the reservoir and dam

 The dam creates a lake 10km wide by 80 km long. The water is a beautiful, clear blue-green.

Driving down to the bottom of the dam we came across some free-roaming horses

 Below the dam, approaching the Powerhouse where the Control Center and turbines are located.

The overflow channel where water can be manually released from the resevoir in case of a power outage or rising water levels in the lake.

 Below the dam: alamos, desert, and the River Limay.

Beautiful cross-bedding in the sedimentary rocks... The kids were like, "Whaaa?"

A model of the inner mechanical workings of a hydroelectric dam.

 The turbines. This was a six turbine dam.



Control Room

Because Omar speaks Spanish, is really intelligent and uses really big words, talks really fast, and is really passionate about hydroelectricy, the kids didn't really understand a word he said. So we had to look up dams and hydroelectricity and the basics thereof after we got home later on.

We also watched this very informative, simple, and illustrative video on the workings of a hydroelectric dam....

Some interesting things we learned:

• electricity can not be stored, as it is generated it needs to be used immediately or poof! it's gone
• Brazil has the most dams in all of South America and sells much of its extra hydroelectric energy to neighboring countries
• it only takes 40 employees to man this huge dam
• El Chocon Dam also controls the secondary dam 30km downriver, all from on location
• the dam is made of earth, not cement, therefore has a greater capacity to withstand earthquakes
• if the dam goes, all of us downriver on the floodplain are goners (Nice, huh? I actually knew this. I quick peek at Google Earth before we moved here and my geology background could see that right away. In light of the Matthew 24:4-8, not sure I will ever invest in property here. :))

more church building

sanding the walls

The church we attend here has outgrown it's old meeting place, so they have built a newer, bigger meeting place on the same lot. We started meeting there regularly just weeks ago. We've gathered bits and pieces of the story of how this church was planted 20 years ago, and we can see how it has grown. We have heard stories of how the pastor and his wife didn't have a bathroom in their first place when they came to the city. We have heard how they cooked and sold chicken to raise money to begin construction. We know how they have reached out to the community because we can see how they are doing that now.

Sometimes I wish our friends from back home could see what we see, experience it. One whole wall of the new church building is tin sheeting, the windows haven't been put in yet but are covered loosely with black burlap, there are pigeon droppings - many - that have cascaded down the wall from the constant roostings, there is neither heat nor air conditioning, the sound vibrates from the speakers so much that sometimes I don't understand a thing, and on Sunday mornings you have to look up once in a while to make sure a pigeon isn't roosted directly over your head. This past Sunday we had quite a few flying around - one swooped precariously close to the pastor's head. It doesn't bother me - it's a refreshing reminder that we don't gather together for our own comfort, or because the building is great, or because of the cushioned seating, surround sound, and climate control.

Anyway, church construction (men build buildings, but it is Christ who builds His Church Acts 2:47) is a whole new beast here. You build as you are able, when you are able, however you are able, and when the funds become available. Members pitch in with construction because this is the Third World: you can't always afford to hire a contractor out to do the work for you. That means Joe PewWarmer often gets up out of his plastic chair to pitch in.

This weekend, we went in to paint the new building. No actual painting ended up taking place... prepping the walls took all afternoon. We sanded all the walls by hand. Wax on, wax off. Wax on, wax off... lol

An electric sander would have been handy, but construction is mostly manual labor here, tools are often unavailable. My back and shoulders were in a serious big knot the next day.

Another group did some landscaping in the tiny atrium that connects the new building to the old one and the Christian school.

atrium before

atrium after

It is always encouraging to see the pastors, their wives, their whole family out there sanding, sweeping, throwing seed. An example to follow, it always blesses us so much.

Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ. ~1 Cor. 11:1

Join with others in following my example, brothers, and take note of those who live according to the pattern we gave you. ~Phil. 3:17

If you need a good laugh...

... watch this. We laughed until we cried.



A song by parents to their daughter as she gets ready to leave for college after growing up in Haiti as an MK [from the Livesays ].

kids walking down street

It's normal to see kids walking down the street all by themselves here. It's a lot like life was back in the 70s and 80s in the States. Parents are much more relaxed with their kids here than we are, certainly than we are used to seeing. The youngest in this group was maybe 5 or 6. One of my daughter's friends, who is 8 years old, rides the bus by herself back and forth every day to her sports activities after school. No one seems to watch their kids very much here. We do. So that puts us in the slightly neurotic, over-protective crowd. Oh well. We don't do sleepovers either. Which makes us... something. Not sure what. But we feel it. Today we were driving out of our neighborhood and there was a little kid, just out of diapers, out in the street by the curb trying to ride his tricycle. This particular road is very well traveled with constant traffic. Grandpa was standing in the doorway just watching, none too concerned for the little boy's safety. We cringe and shake our heads in unbelief. God really protects a lot of these kids. Thank God for that.

Life is so different here.

Day 4 in Chos

To finally wrap up the series on our trip to Chos Malal, here's a final post on Day 4.

[Day 1, 2, 3]

Since I deleted the only pictures I took our last day from my cell phone (it was just lunch, a talk and travel really), I'll just have to tell you what a great last day it was.

We found Nutella in a local supermarket. Need I say more? It was the sign of a good day. It doesn't take much to make us happy. I think we bought their whole supply. We realize the Hand of God when we see it, you know? We had Nutella on bread for breakfast. And for lunch. And for about the entire week thereafter. We even left a jar for the native missionaries there - they had never tried it before and liked it! Why we can't find it in our city of 300,000 - but in a random small town six hours from anywhere close to Chile... well, that will remain a mystery. Either way, God is good.

Highlight #2 was planning a return trip to this area that we loved so much.

Day 4 We sat down over a bowl of pasta with missionaries and church planters Damian and Marta and organized an evangelistic event for May. They need help, we want to help, so let's do it, was the consensus. They pulled out their hand-drawn map of the area with the mountain families they still have yet to reach, we talked about the needs of the area, and together we wrote up a plan for the weekend. So far we have volleyball, soccer, preaching for kids and adults, the JESUS film, and a used clothes fair on the books. All of this in a little village an hour's drive outside of town, many kilometers out a gravel road, very near where the conference was held. But you'll have to wait til May to see how it went. Praying God brings all the details together.

Damian, Tony, and Daniel

Lately I feel I've been posting too many pictures of poverty, wondering if people get bored with seeing it, post after post. I guess it can be depressing, although - strangely - I don't find it to be. It just is. It's a lot of what we do and why we are here. But, just in case you're tired of seeing pictures of rough neighborhoods and the slums, here are some nice pictures to wrap up our long weekend in Chos Malal, northern Neuquén Province, Patagonia, Argentina. Enjoy.

busyness, drunkeness, and other general weirdness

Life is busy here. And sometimes a whole lot of weird. I feel like my head's going to explode trying to process it all sometimes.

Good Friday, Tony spent all day in the slums while I took the kids on a nature walk - our first "official" nature walk in Patagonia - complete with list of things to look for. Since I had spent the entire week with visions of public school dancing in my head, I figured it was time to get out before somebody {Mommy} lost it.

Tony came home from a draining day, hoping to rest and eat something before we quickly headed out again to a meeting then a movie showing, only to get a call from the slums about an altercation with a drunk. Someone (we know) had shown up to "help" one of the families rebuild, but he showed up so drunk he could barely talk. He claims he's a Christian, he was insisting he was there to help, proceeded to walk around the site "praying" in a loud voice, continuing to insist he was there to help and to "do the Lord's work". All he succeeded in doing was making the families really, really mad. One of the dads called Tony asking him to come back and remove the guy before he killed him. We didn't put it past him, so back Tony went. One incident like that, someone showing up wearing the name "Christian" but acting really not, could completely ruin everything we've been trying to build for months.



drunk guy {in the red hat} - sometimes he's sober, like here


That's another new thing for us... flagrantly alcoholic church-goers. Slaves to alcohol who have no self control, but claim to know and love Jesus while getting rip-roaring drunk, all the while not seeming to think this is anything to really be alarmed about. The next day after a binge, they are "doing well, all is well, I'm well, God is good, and Praise the Lord!". It's kinda weird, definately new. At least people in the States who go to church and claim to know Christ but who are really raging drunks know better than to shout it from the mountaintops, at least in my experience. A certain level of shame is a good thing - it means you might have a clue that something is not. quite. right.

We have not-so-infrequent run-ins with inebriated people. It's the nature of the beast. I'm nobody's judge, but I am certainly learning to not answer my cell phone depending on who it is - and definately not after midnight {always bad news}, because then I can never get off the phone. Drunk people just go on and on and on in usually beligerent drunken stupors. There's no reasoning with them. I have better things to do with my time than to talk to someone who isn't listening anyway. Tony's really good with drunks, though. He keeps his calm and is able to take control of the situation; I just get annoyed and kick myself for answering the phone, vowing not to next time I see the number. The last time Pedro called I just told him the truth - You are a slave to alcohol and you need Jesus to set you free. He's the only One who can help you. I must have said goodbye and told him Tony would call him at least ten times. All he wanted to do was ask me how I was doing over and over again and put me on the phone with his grandmother (sweet lady that she is). Six months ago that would have been really awkward. I still think it's weird. But now, it's just kinda normal.

Pedro, Tony, Raul, and Alberto [Pedro was let go for drinking on the job, so returned to his little town up north. He still calls us.]

Fast forward Easter morning. As I was in the bathroom getting ready for church, I heard a gunshot. I heard Tony from the other room, "Did you just hear that?" Uh, yeah. Sure did. The weird thing is, everyone here says we live in a "nice" neighborhood. That wasn't my impression when we first arrived here. But, all things being relative, it is a "nice" neighborhood. For here. A nice neighborhood with gunshots. Yeah... 

Gunshots were just never on my radar, but hey, I guess they are now.

Easter afternoon we spent at the children's home.

But let me preface this with a little rant first- may I? Just humor me.

PARENTS: Don't leave your kids with anybody. Let me repeat myself... DON'T LEAVE YOUR CHILDREN WITH ANYONE. If you heard some of these stories we hear, if you knew... REALLY KNEW... that 90% of sexual abuse cases are perpetrated by someone who knows the victim... you wouldn't ever leave your kids with anyone. Family, friends, your trusted church friends. An.y.one.

Okay, I'm done. Ignore me if you want. It's just some statistics with a suggestion. I'm sure there are people in the world we can trust, surely.

So, I was finally able to go to the Children's Home {where all the kids have a story like above}, now that visitations are up and running again after summer break. We had a great time with the kids - we played Duck, Duck, Goose; Red Light, Green Light; and Freeze Tag - Argentinian versions, of course. Some of the young adults from church shared the Resurrection story as we sat around an outside table talking with the kids. I was amazed that most of the kids had never even heard of the Resurrection before. They thought Easter was about eggs. I took my daughter with me on our visit; she loved it and asks me all the time when we are going back.

my friend Keren with one of the sweeties from the children's home

There's more that's been going on, some that makes me nervous. Like Tony beginning a new ministry in another home for older kids... 13 and up. Kids aging out of the other home with nowhere to go. No one visiting them. No one sharing love and the gospel with them. I asked Tony if he really thinks this is a good idea. I mean, people get knifed in homes for older kids; they are bigger and they have bigger problems. Kids are extremely street smart here, more than most adults I know. A guy that used to work in one of these homes recently showed Tony his scars. So, really, Tony... don't you think maybe we should just forget this one? He doesn't think so.

And there are other things that are happening that are weird, well, more like extremely disturbing. Things that are just unbloggable. Things that remind me why I don't like having neighbors, and why I don't trust anyone. Things that make me shudder and remember that this is a yucky, fallen world. Things that remind me that yes, indeed, this is a battle. A WAR (Ephesians 6). Things that remind me of the very reason we are here. Things that, once you begin to fight them, wake up the someone who doesn't want to lose any ground. Not an inch.

I've been reminded, uncomfortably, this Resurrection week of the Truth in 1 Peter 5:8...

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion,

seeking whom he may devour."

Feelin' it. Hoping next week is better.

Good Friday

Good Friday showing of the Gospel of John {at church}...

We should have viewed it before we showed it. A wonderful, powerful movie, full of Scripture - but we had to put subtitles on and could only listen to it in English. Distracting. I felt even worse about that when someone told us later that there was a couple in the audience who can't read. And then, of course, the little kids that can't read ... argh. Learning. I think we were all still blessed, though.

Easter Eve moonrise

Good Friday sunset



living the dream

Living the Dream Part I

Saturday night my boyz showed the JESUS film and a few Torchlighters movies in the rough neighborhood next door (this one). I am so proud of them. We're actually doing what we set out to do. God has really brought it to pass. I feel like Francis Chan who said, upon leaving the States to pursue missions in the third world, "Living the dream!".

Setting up. The screen hung on a wire between two posts of a soccer goal.

 Tony with some of the neighborhood kids

 The boy in the camoflage shirt's dad is in prison for double homicide. It's that kind of neighborhood.

 watching a Torchlighters movie

the JESUS film

Some of the kids scoffed at the movies to be shown, saying they had better movies at home. Action movies, horror movies. Some threatened to go home and watch their movies which were "better". They were riveted, of course, watching the Torchlighters series. Everybody always is. They later didn't want to leave and asked when we were coming back to show more movies.

Living the Dream Part II

In other somewhat selfish news, I finally started zampoÑa [sahm-pohn-nyah] lessons. [My computer is being weird about ALT commands - they're not working for me here. The least of my problems.]. I finally made it to the weekly practice of a group of Christian guys that play Andean music. It was heaven. It was even more wonderful because my kids didn't come with me. Translation: it was relaxing. I almost felt young again: childless, able to finish adult conversations, glorious. If God is merciful, maybe I'll even learn to play.

Miguel teaching me how to play the zampoÑa

Living the Dream: The Flip Side

But, life isn't all rosey here. Not at all. There is another side (as another soldier on the forefront has noted) - "the inevitable spiritual attack that meets the coming of the Kingdom". It is ever present. We have had bad dreams, nightmares, all of us, since we've been here, often. Impatience, tension, pressures, trials, misunderstandings, criticism, fightings, tears.

But there is grace, the same grace that we all have access to through Christ. The same grace that upholds us who hope and believe in Him. Being here, fighting dirt, has brought all our dirt to the surface like nothing else. Missions is messy. Daily we come face to face with our failings, our weakness, our filth. It's ugly. The only thing that separates us from those we are trying to reach is forgiveness, nothing else. Because of Christ, we are forgiven. Because of the forgiveness he has extended to us, we are able to extend forgiveness, be forgiven. So we forgive, we kiss and make up and hug and talk, and we move on, praying we get it someday. Sometimes limping, sometimes swiftly and with strength, daily reminded that we are not qualified for this. For any of this.

Which is exactly why we are qualified for this.