And Just Like That...

They were gone.  The front door closed with a hesitant, soft click.  I stood on one leg, my broken ankle cradled in the cushion of my scooter.  Too stunned to even shake my head.  I was staring up at the closed front door, the last words I'd spoken, ringing in my ears: "I love you."  

My eyes panned across the living room to the mirror behind the couch.  I was staring at myself, at the white streaks in my hair that weren't there a decade ago.  I imagine in one more decade, when that door closes for good, when my youngest is 18 and will walk away into his new life, there may only be some streaks of brown left.  But who knows.

I rolled over to the stairs and grabbed my crutches, slowly making my way up to my room, determined to tap and type until I could restore some order in my brain.  As if the clicks and pauses, if played long enough, would drum out a familiar melody, a song and a story that my mother's heart craved.  How do I make sense of this rapidly changing life?

I almost wish whoever might be reading this could see all the drafts, all the rabbit holes.  The comparisons between the U.S. and Singapore and Switzerland.  The complaints about COVID.  The marvel of watching the kids grow.  And that's it.  That's the elusive melody that began this journey, so that will be my focus.

But first, allow me a brief trip down memory lane...Seven years ago we arrived on a dark, balmy night.  The floors were marble, the palm trees swayed.  Staff fluttered around the children, whose tired heads lolled as they piled onto plush couches.  Bag after bag was unloaded, papers were signed.  As we wiped our faces with cool, lemongrass scented towels, we had no idea of the adventure that awaited.  Life in Singapore with 4 children ages 7, 5, 3, and 1 was just beginning.

That is how I remember life there, in strange and vivid snapshots.  Moments in time where senses were heightened and emotions were high.  Experiences that were so foreign and bizarre, they simply burned into my brain.  And if Singapore has anything in common with Switzerland, that's it.  That strange, choppy picture show quality of memories forged by jarring experiences.

So for today's strange experience...I put my kids on public transport.  It wasn't the first time.  The circumstances were just really strange today.  In the States, I would have piled them into the mini-van and taken them where they needed to go.  They might even walk to school or ride their bikes.  They might catch a ride with a friend.  They would not have gone far.  If they had gone far, they certainly would have been accompanied by an adult.

In Europe, much as in Singapore, public transportation is amazing.  It is clean, affordable, efficient, and safe.  We took it several times while we were waiting to get the lease approved for our station wagon.  Though the 10 minute walk to the bus stop is picturesque, it can be hard to appreciate the beauty when it is dark and cold, as it is on school mornings.  Once at the stop, it takes another 10 minutes to reach a train station.  It's not bad, just different from what we were used to in the States.  So, usually, I drive the kids everywhere, including school.

A few weeks ago, I broke my ankle while skiing.  My right ankle.  No walking and certainly no driving.  Aaron jumped in, and thanks to the work-from-home COVID mandates, he was able to drive the kids to and from school.  He had several trips scheduled, but then our youngest contracted COVID.  Then I did.  Then Parker.  Then Maddie.  It was like the plague, but in some ways it was a blessing, because it meant Aaron stayed home.  

Fast forward to today.  Everyone has recovered from COVID.  Aaron flew to Madrid.  It happens to be the "ski day" for Parker's class.  They are loading onto a bus and heading for the mountains.  He would need to be at school 30 minutes earlier than usual.  What was normally a 15 minute car ride became a 35 minute walk-bus-train-bus trip.  Alone.

This also meant Maddie would have to take her younger brothers on the same walk-bus-train-bus journey, departing 30 minutes after Parker.  Now, I know what I said about the Swiss public transport being safe and efficient yada, yada, yada.  All of a sudden, it wasn't feeling like the best option anymore.  Was it really fair to ask our kids to do this?  How would they cope?  The same way European kids who did this all the time do, I supposed.

So this morning was one of those bizarre, notice the details, kind of mornings.  A few minutes after my alarm went off, I heard Parker silence his own alarm and begin moving around his room.  Let's just stop right there.  For over a decade, I was the one waking everyone.  Suddenly, I found myself meeting this taller-than-me young man in the kitchen.  I made some eggs and toast, as he purchased his tickets on his phone.  Okay, can we stop again?  He was navigating his own way, without my help.  So weird.  He pulled on his mid layer coat, gathered his gloves and shoved some granola bars into his pockets.  I had to silence that voice in my brain that told me to write his name on the wrappers.  Good moms remember to label everything.  What if he lost them?  What if they got mixed in with his friends' snacks?  Hush, momma.  He's 14, not 4.  He zipped into his out layer coat and told me goodbye.  I asked for a kiss, and he obliged.  Then he made his way out the door.

After icing my leg, I called up to Maddie.  Without complaint, she made her way downstairs and proceeded all the way to the basement where she woke her brothers.  I heard her reminding them to pack their snacks as they ascended.  Caleb stopped by the couch where I was sitting with my leg propped up on a pillow.  He snuggled with me for a moment then followed Maddie and Jack into the kitchen where they began to make breakfast.  We made a game of racing to put on socks and shoes.  Caleb beat the timer I set by a mere 2 seconds with a victorious grin.  I reminded Jack today was swim day (aka super-random, ever- changing, make-parents-insane, don't-forget-to-bring-the-necessary-labelled-towel-suit-cap-to-school-or-you-will-have-to-drive-it there-later day).  Needless to say, I found swim days a tad stressful on a good day.  I would not drop that ball today.  

Jack assured me his bag was by the door.  

Can you just put it inside your regular backpack, please?  

No, mom.  It's fine.  

But Jack, I can't bring it up there today.  What I didn't say was, "Jack, please let me control this one little thing during this completely uncontrollable day.  Please let me feel like I'm helping somehow.  Please let me feel like I'm doing something to parent you." 

I've got it mom.

Meanwhile, Maddie and Caleb were donning their coats and moving toward the door.  

Jack, just put it in your bag.

Bye mom.   The front door closed with a hesitant, soft click.

I love you.

I stood there.  Not mad.  Just a little helpless.  Not in the normal sense of the word.  No, I had simply helped-less.  They didn't need me to remind and pester and badger.  Because they had it.  They had it covered.  

And it was weird and good and perplexing.  It was the paradox of parenthood - the mixture of joy and sadness and surprise when you have made yourself obsolete.  Now, I'm not saying they don't need me anymore at all, but it was a little shocking to realize just how self-sufficient these little humans had become.  

I opened my phone and checked the Life360 app I'd set up years ago.  Immediately, the sweet little faces of their outdated pictures appeared, moving slowly across the map, away from me, even more jarring given their youthful appearance.  Noticing his battery was low, I quickly texted Parker and surprised myself by asking him to turn off location services on his app.  If his battery died, he wouldn't be able to buy a train ticket home.  

I had to let him go if I wanted him to come home.  

And just like that, he was gone.

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6

Parker at 14

Dear Parker,

It is the morning of your sister's 13th birthday.  Jack is the only kid awake, quietly working a puzzle at the kitchen table.  The streamers and balloons are hung, and the house waits in hushed anticipation.  It's the perfect time to write your birthday post, which has been stewing in my mind for the last 6 months.  

You and Maddie were born exactly 18 months apart, right down to the day.  So every year, her birthday falls on your half birthday and vice versa.  I have friends who celebrate their children's half birthdays with cute traditions like serving half a cake.  That would never work for us because we'd end up with too much cake (as if there is such a thing).  Also, I'd never want to take away from the specialness of someone's actual birthday.

So here we are.  An early morning blog session.  So many changes since last year...Where to begin?

Maybe with a global pandemic?  We were returning from Spring Break at the Silver Spur Guest Ranch when we first began to understand the seriousness of Covid 19.  We decided to stop at a store on the way home, as our friends in California warned us of shortages.  We entered the Walmart and were shocked to see empty shelves.  We arrived at home to learn school was cancelled indefinitely.  Welcome to your 13th year.

Living in TX had its perks.  The schools were determined to have students return safely (mandating masks, lines, barriers, etc.).  After a few short weeks at home, school was back in session.  You played football.  You wrestled.  You joined the weight lifting club and made it into the 400 club, lifting 4 times your body weight.  You tried track and field for the first time and surprised us all as you sailed effortlessly over the bar.  By the end of the year you had been chosen by the staff as the Rushing Middle School 7th Grade MVP receiving a trophy at the Athletic's Program Banquet.

But you are not just a jock.  You always balanced school, sports, and your social life beautifully.  You loved reading and painting figures.  You had fantastic grades.  You were a member of Hope Squad, (a student-nominated position where you helped fellow students get connected to each other and to professionals when needed).  You were adored by your teachers and nominated for the Lone Star Leadership Academy (which you attended just after turning 14).

You always made time for friends and family, too.  You often played airsoft with friends on the weekends.  You recruited so many friends (and even a parent) to play, we thought D14 [airsoft company] should give you a discount.  I loved watching all your friends spill into our hall on Saturdays, decked out in camo, and chatting up a storm.  You guys would stow your lunches in the cooler, pile into the van, and begin your day long bro-fest.  

For those friends who didn't enjoy airsoft, you would play playstation, shoot nerf guns, swim at the community pool or lagoon, hang out at the park, play basketball, you name it.  You were (and are) a social butterfly.

You also made time for family.  You played D & D online with Grandpa, Uncle Bob, and Cousin Bella.  You hunted with dad.  You swam with your siblings.  You watched shows with mom. 

I guess what I'm getting at here is that you are one of the most well-rounded 13 year old boys I've ever encountered.  I have the benefit of hindsight as I write this.  I know what the first 6 months of your 14th year hold.  Spoiler alert: it's a doozy.  I'm happy to report that you are still doing an amazing job at being an incredible human (despite the craziness of the last 6 months), but that post is for another day...

I love you so much, Parker.  I'm so proud of you and happy to be your mom.  Happy birthday (half a year late), dear boy.

Love, 

Mom

Madison at 12

 Dear Maddie,

You are 12.  You are my sunflower...You grew quietly and steadily, until one day I turned around, and there you were,  face beaming at the sun, towering and strong.  I love that you still allow me to cradle you in my lap, your long legs dangling over the side of the armchair.  I love that you still ask me to scratch your back every morning when I wake you.  I remember a time I could spread my fingers and span your entire back. No longer.  You are now a child in the body of a young woman.  

This year you have learned the difference between progress and perfection.  You are a star student and a fabulous volleyball player.  You make mistakes, but they don't define you.  You are crafty and creative, making all sorts of homemade goodies (candles, soaps, baked goods) for friends and teachers alike.  You are, according to Caleb, "the best sister ever," constantly encouraging your little brothers and praising their efforts.  You are quiet and thoughtful but also funny and clever.

This year we celebrated a lovely, albeit strange birthday with a few of your friends.  It was a special year for you.  We had just moved in the previous fall, so this year you had made some sweet friends and delighted in having them over.  We were blessed with a warm day for late October and held the party outside, distanced and wearing masks [thanks to Covid].  You and your friends raced around the neighborhood gathering the fun clues you'd left for the scavenger hunt.  Then we played outdoor games and had cupcakes and opened presents.  You were beaming.  And I was so very happy for you.

I know moves are hard for you.  You are discerning, taking your time to develop friendships, and when you do, they are special and lasting.  I'm glad you keep in touch with your best friend in KY,  and I know how much you miss her.  I'm sorry I haven't allowed you to fully express your feelings.  Things are changing.  There is room for big feelings in our home.  There is room for dissent.  All feelings are valued.  As Fred Rogers so wisely stated: "Whatever is mentionable is manageable."  

Thanks to my Covid breakdown, you have a different momma.  I'm hoping I can pass along to you some of the tools I fought to earn.  More importantly, I hope I can help you rewrite our family narrative so that it is more authentic.  It's okay to be a truth teller.  It's okay to tell me when I'm wrong, because I'm human, and I get it wrong...and that's how we grow.  Most of all, I hope that you can love you as much as I love you.  I hope you can learn the value of self-compassion because it will give you a capacity for grace that is otherwise impossible.  You are kind, you are intelligent, you are silly, you are funny, you are wise, you are strong, you are compassionate, you are generous, you are passionate, you are hard-working, you are creative, you are you, and you.are.precious.   I love you, Maddie-girl.  Happy 12th birthday.

Love,

Momma

Jack turned 9

Dear Jack, 

 This post has been especially difficult to write.   I always want to authentic when I write on our family blog, but for a few months now, I have not been in a place where I could share my heart.  It was a very dark time.  Your birthday happened to be just before this tidal wave knocked me down.  And because I didn't write your birthday post promptly, it simply had to wait until I could begin to make sense of things again.  The clouds are lifting, and I am starting to see the rainbows now. 

You, child, are wrapped in rainbows.  You always have been.  From the start.  You have been a unicorn.   Different.  As I've said before, it is impossible for me to choose a favorite child (not that I'd ever even want to); I simply want to use this time, this post, to highlight those many qualities in you that make you so unique and special and beloved. 

This year was the best birthday you've ever had.  You had your own group of friends in attendance.  Real friends who really get you.  There was Shawn, Ricky, Ian, and Maddie (not your sister).  It was a weird year, as we had to keep a distance and wear masks, but it was a joyful party nonetheless.  You all had pizza and cupcakes and swam in the lagoon.  You were grinning from ear to ear.  This has been a long time coming for you.  Due to our many moves and the way in which your brilliant brain works differently from so many others, large groups of friends have been hard to come by.  You've always found a best friend wherever we go, someone who intuitively understands the complex rules and systems of your imaginary worlds or who is at least happy to play alongside you even if not engaged in the same activity.  But to have a whole group of go-to buddies!  Wow!  What an amazing gift from God. 

 Jack, some people think "outside the box."  In your world, there are no boxes.  Your solutions and mental calculations are just beyond what most (myself included) can see.  In years past, school has been a struggle for you, so it was so exciting to hear that you will be enrolled in the Gifted and Talented program.   It is gratifying to see that some of the tests you have taken are finally capturing your potential. 

 But sweetheart, it's not the mental exercises that impress me.  What astounds me is your emotional intelligence.  I'll never forget the day you looked up at me with a perplexed expression, your big, beautiful eyes brimming with tears: "Mom, it feels like your trying to make me feel bad."  I don't remember the specifics of why I was berating you.  But I remember where I was standing in the kitchen.  I remember stopping in my tracks.  "You're right," I whispered.  I didn't know it at the time, but this was the beginning of the end of the first half of my life.  This was the beginning of my unravelling.  You saw through the patterns, spoke the unspeakable, and sliced right into my heart. 

So the boy who battles invisible zombies with a plastic sword, the one who weaves fantastic tales about wizards and dragons, the child who sheds his clothes like a snake until he's comfortably down to his underwear (all the time), the little person who belly laughs at digitally modified pictures of fat giraffes, the kid who receives special services in school...this one cut right to the heart of the matter.  With such vulnerablity and tenderness that it was impossible for me to continue being the person I was.  For that, I am truly thankful, Jack.  I was the winner this year.  I got the best present. 

But back to you!  It's your birthday post afterall!  You are 9!  Now only 7 months away from double digits!  You are becoming incredibly self-aware.  Some mornings are still difficult for you, especially on Mondays, when your routines have been thrown off by the weekend.  But you are learning to recognize and manage your emotions, and you've developed some excellent coping skills.   Those come in handy when dealing with your best friend/enemy/brother, Caleb.  Whew!  You two together are something else!   As mentioned above, you've got some great friends, and we're looking forward to spending more time with them after this pandemic. 

Speaking of Covid, you caught it.  You, Maddie, and Daddy.  We all had to quarantine for a few weeks.  Everyone stayed isolated in their own rooms, in the hopes the rest of us wouldn't get sick.  It was a challenging time, but you were a real champ.  You actually prefer online learning, as you are able to complete your tasks quickly and aren't required to do any pesky busy work while waiting for classmates to catch up.  

You love listening to and making music.  You mix beats and wear headphones, bobbing through the house.  You have a great singing voice, too.  You love reading graphic novels and playing Minecraft.  You love our dog, Abby, probably more than you love any other family member.  You thank God for her every night.  You love playing 4 square with your sibling and playing tickle games with dad during night time tuck-in.  You still crawl into my lap and let me kiss your sweet head.  You are simply precious, Jacky-Jack.  I love you, sweet boy.  I hope the second half of your 9th year will be even more blessed than the first. 

Love, 

Momma

Teenager

Dear Parker,

There is so much I want to say to you.  I have written and rewritten the first line of this post so many times.  I began writing this on Memorial Day.  Daddy was at breakfast with his cousin who happened to be in town.  All you kids were fast asleep, and I was alone with my feelings.  And believe you me, this blog post gave me all the feels.

13 years.  Where?  Where did they go?  How did they slip through my fingers like sand? 

When I look at you now, I can't help but see that munchkin in the bright yellow rain jacket that was a staple in your Seattle wardrobe when you were a toddler.  That time period of your life is etched in my brain.  Perhaps it's because that was the time when you had my undivided attention.  That was a good and bad thing.  I was not a graceful new mom.  I had many a meltdowns (see previous blog posts).  It was a time of extreme highs and lows.  Thankfully, now, the highs take centerstage in my fuzzy memories...Parker on the "train ride" (being pulled by a tractor around the parking lot), Parker in the bucket swing, Parker pushing the stroller because he hated actually riding inside, Parker and his special green blanket, Parker, Parker, Parker.

My heart simply aches when I think about how much I love you.  I love that you still ask me to tuck you in at night.  I love that you still want to watch movies and shows with me.  I love that you include me in your new hobbies (though I am a little nervous about trying airsoft guns).  I love that you stop what you're doing to admire your brothers' Lego creations when they bring them to you for approval.  I love that you play Minecraft with Maddie.  I love that you love being active, riding your bike, playing sports, hunting with dad.  I think we lucked out with you, son.  I know every parent must feel that way, but I couldn't be more proud of you.

You are nearly as tall as me now.  When we hug, you rest your chin on my shoulder.  Your voice is deep, except when you giggle (and that's my favorite).  Your smile makes your beautiful blue eyes turn into thin, happy crescent moons.  You are beautiful, my boy.  My man-child.

You had a course this year called pre-athletics.  It's a sort of gym class meant for athletes who wish to join the school team next year.  It's pretty intense, and the switch from going to school to eLearning (due to the pandemic) did not decreased the intensity of this particular class.  You always complete your scheduled workouts, and I've been amazed as I watched your little boy body transform this year.  You have muscles!  It's so weird!

You haven't just grown physically this year.  You continue to mature emotionally.  You were identified by your peers as a leader and nominated to be on the middle school Hope Squad next year.  You considered the pros and cons and decided that choosing to participate in this organization that helps promote inclusivity and student mental health was well worth the tradeoff of another elective.  You are looking forward to participating, and we know you'll be a valuable asset to the team.

You still keep in touch with friends from all over.  An unexpected benefit of the quarantine has been more online time with old friends.  You miss seeing your Texas friends in person, but you keep up your social life online.

You are still my sweet, tender hearted little boy.  You alway look out for the outsider, inviting the "new" kid to sit with you at lunch or play with your friend group at the pool.  I can't tell you how many times over the years parents have approached me wanting to express their gratitude that you reached out to their child, often the newcomer to the area.  Other parents call or text to say what a "good" kid you are.

That brings me to another area of maturity for you.  Spiritually, you've grown so much this year.  You are learning to walk the journey of recognizing sin, feeling convicted, repenting, and receiving forgiveness.  Moving from forgiveness into joy has always been my struggle, and I see it in you, too.  Living in guilt is not what God wants from you.  The sacrifice He made was so that you could live a life of freedom and joy.  It's ok to embrace that!  There is nothing you could do that could ever separate you from His love (or ours).  That is good news!  Don't let your joy be taken from you, dear boy.  Extend yourself the same grace you are so quick to give others.

Parker, I know you are a gift from God.  I may have been involved in the physical aspect of bringing you into this world, but you are so much more than my son.  You are precious and beloved.  We used to butt heads when you were little.  We may do it again in the future.  That never changed your standing in my heart.  Right now, at 13, you are an absolute delight.  People shake their heads and smile knowingly when I talk about how great you are or how well we get along.  I won't be some Pollyanna and assume our relationship will always be smooth sailing.  But for today, for this snapshot in time, I sure am enjoying the ride with you.

I love you so much, teenager!  I hope you have an amazing year!

Love,
Momma

 

7 times

7-10-2020

Seven times around the sun, and the circles get faster and faster.  Sweet baby boy, today is your day.  I woke you with chocolate chip pancakes, carrying a tray to your room and kissing your plump cheeks awake.  Barely opening an eye, you reached an arm out to me and wrapped it around my neck, holding me in place against your soft skin.

Caleb.  My baby.  My not so baby anymore, thumb sucking, mischievous little dancing ninja.  Sometimes I don't know why I even try to write birthday posts, so hopeless is the task of attempting to capture the essence of the angels in my life in single, yearly blog posts.  Mom guilt kicks in, and I think to myself, why didn't you write about that hilarious thing he said last week?  What was it again?

You are marvelous and maddening.  You are all grown up and still little tiny.  You are all twinkling eyes, eyebrows raised as you dance around the rules and then red-faced and tearful because Jack called you a meanie when you were "only being a little mean!"  You are two-wheeling bike rider and a run-for-your-life-spider-hater.  You are a math whiz, multiplying and dividing, telling us the rules about positive and negative numbers.  You are a baseball playing, Lego building, chess playing, tickle monster.  You are a hater of baths but a pirate once wrestled into the tub.  Animal loving, toothbrush avoidant, screen seeking, snuggle expert.  You are the stealer of my heart.

This morning, you happily watched extra cartoons while I cleaned out a closet.  I came across a huge bag of Halloween candy and snuck a mini candy bar into your palm with a conspiratorial wink.  You threw your arms around me and said, "Thanks for making today so special, mom!"

"It should be special," I replied.  "It was the day you were born, and the world became a better place."

You thought for a moment and said, "No, mom.  Every time a person is born, the world gets a little better."

That.  That right there.  Can I bottle that?  I want to bottle it and shake it up like a soda can.  I want to rip the top off and watch it burst and scatter like glittery confetti, reaching all across our torn nation.  I want everyone to have that beautiful world view.

This world won't change over night.  But little by little, inch by inch, as I watch you grow, I can rest in the knowledge I am watching our future become a little brighter.  Caleb, I love who you are and who you are becoming.  I am so glad God allowed me to be a part of your amazing life.  Please go on loving the world and people with abandon.  Please see the good in every person.  Please just keep being you, sweet Caleb.  Happy birthday, angel.

Love always,
Momma

Covered

As I walk through the house these days, I notice that every surface is covered.

In the living room, the entire coffee table is covered in Axis and Allies.  Grandpa got us this game a few years ago.  There are approximately 2.5 billion little plastic pieces including planes, soldiers, anti aircraft guns, tanks, etc.  We are apparently not going to change the course of history during this game, as the Allies (Parker's team) are still winning. 

In the dining room, the table is covered in a puzzle (left on our porch by a kind neighborhood friend) and in home school and craft supplies.  Maddie works on the puzzle a little each day.  Caleb uses the sight words and fine motor skills buckets to practice his home school assignments.  Jack creates comic books with paper and markers.  Parker practices his cursive writing to earn extra screen time. 

When we moved here, I remember cramming my stockpiles of paper, markers, crayons, glue, scissors, stickers, play dough, paint and all kinds of other junk into an upstairs closet.  I wondered if and when we'd ever really use the stuff.  These days, I'm so thankful I didn't "Marie Kondo" my stash!

The upstairs playroom table, desks, and floor are covered in Legos.  4 kids, 32 collective birthdays, and untold Lego sets have resulted in buckets and buckets of Legos.  Yes, I step on them daily, but the pain is worth it.  The kids spend HOURS building elaborate play scenarios together.

The media room is covered in blankets and pillows.  Since the start of our "shelter in place" order, we decided to institute new, fun family traditions.  "Fort Night Fridays" mean all the blankets and pillows in the house are dragged into the media room.  Complex tunnels are created and crammed with flashlights, toys, snacks, books, you name it.  The kids are allowed to eat dinner in there while watching a family movie.  Then everyone sleeps in there.  At least, that was the plan.  As it turns out, it's not so easy to watch a movie from inside a fort.  We built the fort then watched the movie downstairs.  The kids attempted to sleep in the fort, but then the blanket ceiling collapsed.  Some migrated, tearful, to our room.  Others wandered to their own rooms.  No one had the heart to tear it down the next day.  So, it remains, most likely gathering vermin, waiting for this Friday.

Our floors are covered in muddy prints and a fine layer of dog hair.  Though I sweep daily, our dog sheds profusely.  The kids and dog are in and out of the house all day, running through a yard that never quite dries out between rain storms.  I hear them shrieking as they all jump on the trampoline together.  A little mud is a small price to pay for sweaty, smiling kids.

[I am not including a picture because it's just, well, gross.]

Covered.  Our home covered in love and grace.  We are called to love each other with the kind of love that blankets, the kind of love that suffocates selfishness and annoyance and fear and hatred.  That is the kind of covering I am praying for for our home and for our country and for our world right now.  I hope and pray that you are covered, too.

Above all, have fervent and unfailing love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins [it overlooks unkindness and unselfishly seeks the best for others]. 1 Peter 4:8 AMP