I love reading and writing stories because they have endings. Our story doesn't have an ending yet—at least not from our perspective. We're still slogging through the thick of it. We don't know what's coming up in the next chapter. All we can do is trust the Author, a Father who loves his children more than I would ever be capable of loving mine.
"Jairus wanted to push the woman aside, take Jesus by the hand, and continue their trek back to his house. Jesus held her hand and her gaze as if she were the only person there."
When Ulan's nine-year-old sister needed her appendix out, you'd be surprised what his parents were required to do to ensure a successful surgery.
You might have heard this one. I had. And yet, it spoke again and drove its truths down deep.
She'll make it to the end as long as she holds fast her rope.
I sat in a hospital that was—well, let's just say it was different than the one I'd sat in almost two months prior.