In God's good time.

 Has it been 10 years? I sit here, nursing a baby, yes, even now, Sara- like, with grey hair.

I am saddened by my former self. Her optimism, her zeal.

When a child of mine sent me a text, a brief 4 words announcing the end of her practice of faith, my heart snapped. If it is true that ones heart can snap in half, and yet you can go on living, then I'm proof of that.

Unlike a passion for stamp collecting, or similar, the hours spent pouring over the hobby, and the hope that your child will experience the same joy, to walk so casually away from WHAT IS, with a "meh!", or even a "meh". She doesn't know. She doesn't know HIM. Do you really want to live in beige? Do you child? 

It matters. IT matters.

Monica-like, my passion, my fury, my pain must now be ordered to their good. Each eye-roll, each painful lukewarm "meh" each non-reguard, a treasure still to be offered to Him. 

Because my Mothering is not done, it only increases. Less practical, more spiritual. In God's good time. He is bigger than I.