my beautiful rescue

"I wish my hair was white like Elsa's, but it's not...it's just BROWN." You said it almost sadly, twisting your hair between your fingers and caressing your doll's long, thick braid. And I get it - you're three years old, and in your little world, Elsa is the most popular princess on the playground, with a dress that spins and hands that create ice castles. So I just laughed and told you your hair is perfect. But what I really wanted to do? I wanted to grab your face and look you in the eyes and tell you that you are GORGEOUS. Stunning. Mesmerizing. And you actually are...you have these big, bright eyes that turn a gorgeous shade of blue when the sun hits them and straight, shiny hair that falls perfectly from the moment you wake up. You're really pretty ....I'd think so even if I wasn't your mom. But it's more than that. Because I know things you don't. I know the fascination with Elsa will fade, but the princesses will m

Today I was on a celebrity's social media site, browsing the comments underneath a picture she posted speaking out against abortion, and I was honestly surprised by the thousands of hateful comments she got. People were angry and defensive and so sure in their belief that sometimes abortion was the best choice. At first I just felt sad and mad and all the feelings I can't help but feel when confronted with the fact that we are killing babies that should be living. But this one sentiment kept jumping out at me from the comments: "All the pro-lifers acting as if they're better. You're really just pro-birth because if you cared about LIFE, you would be enriching the lives of people already here. You'd adopt, volunteer, etc. You don't give two shits about those babies that are born and then given to foster families to get raped and beaten. Until you all are actually dong something good for those kids' lives, stfu." "Pro-lifers mainly

I wish I could freeze time.  I thought it over and over as I lay on the couch with your tiny body curled up on mine, our chests gently rising and falling in unison.  I was sore, exhausted and smelled like spit-up and night sweats, and I knew I should be sleeping, but I wanted to live every part of that moment.  I wanted to breathe in your newborn smell and watch your eyelids flutter as the afternoon sunlight and the muted sounds of spring streamed in through the blinds.  I wanted to lay there with you and forget about the world.  I wish I could freeze time.   I thought it again as we sat on the porch watching a rare summer rain, my arms wrapped tightly around you as the thunder rolled in, and I told you how blessed I was to be your mom.  I thought it the first time you smiled, the first time you giggled and the first time you belly-laughed.   I thought it when Daddy and I laid blankets on the living room floor and spent a Sunday afternoon listening to Pandora while you practiced roll

Sometimes, as a parent, I come across a news story or a statistic or a blog that breaks my heart in a million pieces, because even though it's not about YOU, there's always, always the image of your face. Like today. Today, I read that suicide is the second leading cause of death in children aged 10-24, and I thought "What if that was you? What if you decided that you were better without this world, that this world was somehow BETTER without you?" And I wanted to tell you that this will never be true. NEVER. I remember the day you were born and the moment they placed you on my chest for the first time. I remember how I looked into your half-open eyes and thought about all the prayers I'd prayed for you and all the plans I'd made for you, and I knew my life was forever changed and immeasurably better because you were in it. I pictured God knitting together your little body and filling it with personality, and I sat in awe of His masterpiece. I breat

I made You promises a thousand times I tried to hear from Heaven But I talked the whole time I think I made You too small I never feared You at all No If You touched my face would I know You? Looked into my eyes could I behold You? What do I know of You Who spoke me into motion? Where have I even stood But the shore along Your ocean? Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful? What do I know? What do I know of Holy? I guess I thought that I had figured You out I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about How You were mighty to save Those were only empty words on a page Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees What do I know of You Who spoke me into motion? Where have I even stood But the shore along Your ocean? Are You fire? Are You fury? Are You sacred? Are You beautiful? What do I know? What do I know of Holy? What do I know of Holy? What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame? And a God who gave l