It's an overcast morning in Georgia and I'm slowly savoring a second cup of hot, fair trade coffee while I wake up to the day. Sweet Ella Grace is slumbering next to me, and I pause to listen to the gentle rise and fall of her breathing.
Her strawberry-blonde eyelashes rest on her rosy little cheeks and I am smitten. This baby, with her happy temperament and endless smiling has been one of God's greatest gifts to me. I feel my family is complete.
There is a growing stack of books on my nightstand. Some are borrowed, some are new. They range from pocket-sized and thin to a solid two inches thick, and I'm quite certain they all hold good things. Yet, my time is greatly limited. And I recognize that sometimes I must focus on the best thing, crowding out some of the good.
I picked up my Bible, leathery and pliable and full of highlighting and notes. This is the concentrated stuff, the words that have not yet been diluted with commentary and speculation of cultural relevance. This is manna that must be collected up daily.
It is pregnant, this book, always laboring to give birth in me. It is alive, like a strong heartbeat. It lives. No word of God ever falls to the ground.
It is not simply good, it is best. It is how this girl will find strength and hope and faith for the weekend.