Juxtaposed

Last week, after a hard day, I slumped into Russ’s open arm on the couch and crackled out a tearful, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to Anna.” These honest thoughts are hard to speak out because they are merely a trickle of internal floodwaters. When spoken, they are accompanied by wells of emotion that bust open reservoirs that hope and faith have dammed up.

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