Midnight Hour

I love writing in the middle of the night. The house is quiet (except for Mark snoring-loudly), and there is something very restful about the way our heavenly Father takes care of our days.

I talked to my sister today. She is wonderful, but not very healthy right now. She will have a second surgery next week. Hard times have brought her closer in her walk, though. I talked to mom, too. She's starting to forget things. That's scary.

I've been reading "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn." It is the time in my time, I suppose, but the author describes her mother's childhood. It has made me want to question my mom more about her life with her siblings, about her favorite childhood treat, the depression...and so many other things. I wish I had asked years ago. Why do we have to be older for our parents past to be so treasured?

Mark, girls, I love you!