The same ancestral convictions that call me also block me. This is the rub, the pain and fracture that mark my heritage. This is the gap I stand in, between blessing and brokenness. Who do you bring ...
In her right hand she clutches red and purple wildflowers, her flaxen hair tumbling from its bun, her slender fingers laced in his burly fingers, trying to knit one understanding between them as they ...