Chloe and Cole have not yet learned that sound travels. Nor have they learned that whispering isn't whispering when you do it louder than a freight train.
I call it Chloe's "Story of Love."
At dinnertime one evening, Cole wasn't eating his sandwich. He did, however, make several references to dessert.
When I was a child, my father refereed basketball games. I remember two or three nights a week, he would come home wearing his black-and-white-striped shirt.
Chloe and Cole still sleep with a light on in their rooms at night.
I've shared before that I am, by nature, a saver.
Tonight in the Myers household we had our first occurrence of a broken heart. Honestly, I thought it would be much longer before this happened. I also expected that when it happened, it would be Chloe.
I blame the wise men. Honestly, if they were all that wise, shouldn't they have known they were setting a dangerous precedent? But there they were, bringing gifts to Jesus.
A few days ago, Amy brought home two copies of the same children's magazine for Chloe and Cole.
Thanksgiving is a self-defining holiday. It's a time for giving thanks; more specifically, it's a time for giving thanks to God for his provision in our lives.
One day while we were at one of Cole's soccer games, a bee stung Chloe on her cheek.
Cole and I were the last ones inside the church, and I was doing a final walk-through to make sure everything was in order so we could leave. I did it every week. I practically had it down to a science.
It broke my heart to see it. I'm sure it broke the mother's heart, too.
I was the only one awake. It was early morning and still dark outside.
During the past couple of weeks, I've attended several practices and games for Cole's soccer team. In that time, I've come to realize soccer is a lot like church and evangelism.
A couple of months ago, I went to a local home improvement store and bought a big bag of topsoil.
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