and wonder if you have to be a special kind of person to grow bulbs.
Sometimes I ignore our mound of laundry,
and wonder if nudists aren't onto something after all.
Sometimes I hear my children's questions --sometimes their pure laughter--
and wonder if I'm really qualified for this thing called parenthood.
Sometimes I remember a sweet friend suffering...
dying... not wanting to tell her family goodbye...
way. too. early.
and wonder if I can really trust God at all.
And sometimes He stops me and tilts my chin so that I look
-- really look --
at the cross and the empty tomb,
and I wonder how I could do anything else.
