After wrestling with these lies in increasing measure over the course of these changing seasons, I’ve finally heard the truth so clearly: this is a season. This is a season, and I am still serving, still supporting, just in a very different capacity.
Two days a week when I kiss my husband good-bye in the morning, I say three words. In the midst of twins, backpacks, lunch boxes, school papers and jackets, I say these words. As he tries to go get out of the house on time directing my twin girls out the door, I say these words.