Just call me stained!
Naomi said to call her, "Mara." I say call me, "Stained." I'm blemished. And as hard as I try to make it not so with them, it seems that my children are cursed with blemishes too and I'm sad. At times I just want to throw up my hands in surrender and say, "Forget this!" It's just too hard. Not only is parenting hard, but the children have no idea of what I'm trying to invest in them. It's as if they don't care. So I'm wondering early this Saturday morning, "Should I? Should I care?" It is very easy for me to distance myself and get into a mechanical mode, to protect myself, you know? Hmmm. Choices. As I'm thinking these thoughts I look on my bed and see the book that I bought at the Women of Faith Conference by Patsy Clairmont: "Stained Glass Hearts." I'm really getting into this book. While feeling sorry for myself—something I do oh so well. I saw this phrase written on the...