I don’t just struggle through the “how” questions, I struggle through the “why” questions, the “what if” ones. I don’t just question myself, I question God.
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I don’t just struggle through the “how” questions, I struggle through the “why” questions, the “what if” ones. I don’t just question myself, I question God.
And sometimes it’s hard. Like the family who slanders me on social media, who calls in an investigation on me, who continually puts the child at risk, who acts like court is a game to be won. Sometimes it’s very, very hard.
I call it like it is: You are my enemy.
You are giving a child the chance to live a better life. A chance that they deserve. You are giving them the love and care that they so desperately need. You are making a lifelong, lasting difference in the life of another human being.
To this little girl, “mommy” meant the female adult of the house, the lady who reached something you couldn't and refilled your juice. Having five “mommies” in five months, she hadn’t had the chance yet to learn what mommy meant.
This post is not a light-hearted story about my penchant for fainting. This post is about a call I just received. A six month old boy is being released from the hospital tomorrow...