I have been reading some of my old journals, the early motherhood years. It isn’t easy, especially in the midst of Christopher’s diagnosis, when we didn’t know. Yesterday, holding the book in front of me, knowing what’s on the next page, I felt for the young woman who was writing, not knowing, hoping and praying, trying to trust, tired and scared, trying to summon courage. On one hand I feel sorry for her and then on the other I wish she could have been more mature, calmer, less afraid. But she is who she was and bottom line, she turned the page.

Throughout the years of days, there is prayer after prayer – a lot of them are the begging, white knuckly sort – not a lot of trust, but I am not ashamed. Being that girl and praying those prayers has taught me that you don’t need a lot of faith to get a hold of God. You can have more fear than trust; you can have religion confused with relationship, you can be stuck in pride and delusion, but if you call to God he will answer you.

Telling you this I can see the girl I was, writing her heart out in the darkness, on the verge of a great sorrow and loss as well as a new freedom and peace.