A little while ago, I walked through glass doors with a breaking heart and tears I couldn’t control.
I’d been holding back those tears for five days, and I couldn’t hold them anymore.
On Friday afternoon, I was packing for a girls’ weekend. My mind was in my suitcase and my spirit was already behind the wheel, flying toward Brandon, where I would be part of a grace-filled gathering with two of my best friends. When my kids arrived home from school, I did the basic “how was your day” chatting and returned to the task at hand – getting the heck out of dodge.
As I was double-checking my list, I heard a knock on the bedroom door. My youngest son called, “Mom,” and I replied, “What?”
I expected to hear a homework question or a request that I sign a paper to send back to school. Maybe he was fighting with his brother and wanted me to referee. Those are the usual interruptions. Instead, I heard these words…