“Hi Elizabeth!”  I heard as my daughter and I were shopping in a local chain store. I stopped in my tracks. What? Who said that to my daughter? We just moved to the area and hardly knew anyone, so how could there already be someone who knew my daughter by name in a store around here? And then I looked up and saw her. It was the sweet tween girl from our neighborhood who had played with Elizabeth, just several days before. They had jump roped together outside, just down the street from our house. Her name was Samantha. She went by Sam. She was several years older than my daughter – definitely old enough to be “too cool” to give a 9-year-old the time of day. And yet, Sam had stopped riding her scooter that afternoon when she saw my daughter struggling to jump rope across the street, and she sweetly offered to teach her how to skip rope. She patiently stayed and played with Elizabeth for at least a half hour. And the whole time, I could not get over how kind and polite she was. She was...

It was a busy Saturday. I knew the Thursday before that there was going to be no room for anything else in my schedule. The day started with an 8am doctor appointment, followed by drum lessons, watching a football game, and spending the afternoon helping my son with his English assignment. I knew all this going into the weekend; it was planned out perfectly in my head, down to the fact that I had a brief window at 11am to prepare dinner.

Saturday came, and it lived true to my expectations. I was moving from the moment I got out of bed, hopping from one task to the next. I was ready for this day; what I wasn't prepared for is how it made me feel.

7pm came. The appointments were done, the essay was written, the family was fed, and the kitchen cleaned up. I should have felt accomplished, and yet I felt empty.

I stepped outside to take a minute for myself, and the tears began to flow. Why? Exhaustion. I had worked hard. This pain was deeper, though.

As I pondered my tears, I realize...