Standing in my pew after communion, swaying gently just to keep the baby calm, I looked up at you looking down at me from the Cross and felt my lips quiver and my eyes wet.
“I mean well,” I whispered. You were swirling around inside me, dancing in my blood stream, moving with my heart…. “It’s not enough,” You said.
It’s not enough. Every excuse has a perfectly good reason for being. They stand, ready to attack, like little soldiers my son leaves lined up on the front porch, waging an imaginary war.