Snapped out of the fogginess of an early morning sleep, I cried out in excruciating pain. Nearly unable to catch my breath, I was captured by surprise at my predicament of being unable to move the lower part of my body.

Sitting around the dinner table, my husband and I listened to our young daughters chatter about their day. Running commentaries about school, friends, and the things they find funny can run over their lips faster than their brains can formulate a thought.

I sat squished into a chair several sizes too small towering over the heads of several sandy haired children. They watched with big eyes and a fascinated disposition while a police officer in full uniform sang a song about safety.

In a hurry, I haphazardly sliced through the leather-like skin of a pomegranate and began to dig my way through the white flesh uncovering the juicy blood-red seeds.

I sat and listened as a woman lamented her latest heartbreak with her partner. I was fascinated as her emotions swept from anger, disgust, sadness, empathy, forgiveness, only to go right back to anger.

One likes to make the rules and, with an iron fist, make sure all others in the game are following the rules.

Rain pelted against the car window leaving tear-like streaks down the pane. I glanced over my shoulder to look at my daughter.

Deep into a comfortable sleep, I was abruptly awakened by my eldest child's cry and protest. Heartbroken, she announced, “The tooth fairy didn't come! She didn't come!”

As I pulled my car up to the intersection I saw the large orange sign alerting oncoming drivers that the road was closed. I attempted to visualize a quick reroute in my mind estimating how much time I would add to my travels.

A few years ago my mother was struggling with her health. In a short period of time she had lost over seventy pounds of weight and was rapidly declining. She lacked energy suffering from severe pains in her abdomen which led to the inability to digest food. The only coping mechanism she had to control the severe pain and its subsequent issues was starvation.

It all began with a man. Not the first man of God's creation, but the first man in God's own starting point in an elaborate plan to bring His children back to Him.

Amongst piles books and trash turned treasures, I met a woman who by pondering a thought aloud struck up a conversation between us.

Over lukewarm cups of coffee, I listened as a friend dug into the depths of her soul and shared the tragic story that changed the path of her young life.

Early in the morning I received a message from a woman who has been on a personal journey to discovering her faith for several years.

I stood a mere few feet away reading the jacket of a book while overhearing the animated conversation of two men.

Walk into any mall made of brick, mortar, and shiny skylight glass, and you will find a large kiosk of sorts erected like a beacon.