Holiness for me was found in the
mess and labour
of giving birth, in birthday parties and
community pools, in the battling sweetness
of breastfeeding, in the repetition
of cleaning, in the step
of faith it took to go back to church again, in the hours
of chatting that have to precede the real heart - to - heart talks, in the yelling at my kids sometimes, in the crying in restaurants with broken hearted friends, in the uncomfortable silences at our bible study when we're all weighing whether or not to say what we really think, in the arguments inherent to staying in love with each other, in the unwelcome number on the scale, in the sounding
out of vowels during bedtime book reading, in the dust and stink and heat
of a tent city in Port au Prince, in the beauty
of a soccer game in the Haitian dust, in the listening to someone else's story, in the telling
of my own brokenness, in the repentance, in the secret telling and the secret keeping, in the suffering and the mourning, in the late nights tending sick babies, in confronting fears, in the all
of a life.
The problem is, Motrin happened to
mess up at the expense, and in the face
of, one
of the most vocal, quickest - to - blog, «strongest - to - band - together - and - form - one - opinion - like - the - Borg» collectives
out there — The Mommy - Blogging
community.