From the windows of my bedroom on the second story of our home on our 640-acre ranch, I could see the sky morphing from daytime to a water colored twilight.
The master bedroom glowed with purple hues.
My husband Justin, always generous and thoughtful, had excused me for the evening. I could hear the acquainted sundown clamor. One of the college children was home to help. Our 14-year-old daughter would help too. The three youngest, our two adopted toddler sons and our infant foster daughter laughed, hollered, and then one of them began to cry. Dishes clapped, a chair scraped across the dining room floor. All the normal sounds heard on any normal evening in our normal lives played out like a recording.
But tonight wasn’t normal… Continue Reading…