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On Trust

"If I go up into heaven, You are there. If I make my bed in the realm of the dead, You are there."Psalm 139:8


I’ll begin by stating the obvious. 
I am not the first to do this. Nor the last. Scores of able bodied (and otherwise) women, much younger and much older, completely alone and with the help of dozens, with much less and with much more than I, have cursed and blessed their egregiously heavy breasts and slowly protruding abdomens. They’ve swallowed the pain of constant discomfort and mind-numbing fatigue to smile and praise God for this miracle. And they’ve courageously carried the yolk of the responsibility that was slowly and painfully brewing under their flesh.
No, I am not the first. Nor the last. 
Scores of women have endured 40 weeks of restlessness only to die in childbirth. They’ve carried this cross to just miss the resurrection. They’ve toiled endlessly in soil that they never see flower. 
I’m not the first. Nor the last.
In fact, I’m quite blessed. Here I am…

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