The days flow one into the next, like a great river or, sometimes, like a small pond.
The days of mothering and homemaking and educating and all the things in between.
Some days are filled with drizzle and fog.
Other days are bright and sunshiney.
Is there enough grace and love for all the days?
Do I grasp onto His sufficent grace for each and every day?
Why are some days easier than the day before?
Holding on to the bits, finding the joys and embracing the trials.
To have grace and love inked on my arms and tattooed on my heart.
There they are like a rushing river one day and the next a stagnant puddle.
There is room for both, isn't there?