We came back home from your baptism last Sunday and you could not stop laughing, screeching with joy for twenty minutes (or what felt like forever).
When you first arrived I took you in my arms and I prayed over your life that you would grow strong, because you were so small, unexpectedly early.
The sudden death of a friend’s father this past week had us all reeling - on top of an already-difficult 2016, this really hurt.
You will, after service, be asked if you would like to receive prayer, and having been pushed to a rather desperate place in your life, you jump eagerly at the chance.
I’ve had a lot of time to myself lately to do some thinking. Not that I’ve really asked for it, but I’ve acquired myself a lot of free time after developing a Jones fracture in my right foot after a particularly high-volume period of training. For six months I had been training for a marathon, only to acquire the stress fracture in the last two weeks of training and get it diagnosed merely days before the race.
Driving back up on the 5, I heard a song erupting in the meadows. The windows were down and the air was heavy with the scent of wildflowers. I’d been driving long, winding single lane country roads for forty miles, these long expanses of California farmland, green as far as the eye could see. And I swear, I could have heard singing.