Over the years, people who have known me and known Cora’s story have in various ways complimented my “strength.”
I used to hate it. Mostly because at first I was hanging on by my fingernails and felt a hair’s breadth away from utterly falling apart. It was my faith that got me through that. My faith in a Savior who was holding me up so I wouldn’t fall. His strength was the reason I was standing.
That’s still mostly true. But, I’ve regained my equilibrium so to speak. I can go about my day, dealing with things as they come without really needing supplication from the higher power. I guess I have become stronger, in a way. My hope has become stronger.
It is a belief in my church that parents will be reunited with children lost, from the state that they left and we will be able to finish raising them. So I can’t help but picture getting this bitty baby back, and experiencing all that I missed out on.
I hope for that. A hope so strong it keeps breath in my lungs and my heart beating.
I cannot wait until that day. It’ll be glorious beyond belief.