Category Archives: Uncategorized

24th Sip

MOM BOD Pt. 2>


I’ve had this photo sitting in my Instagram drafts for three months. It’s been something of a conundrum for me, since it makes me feel proud and embarrassed all at the same time. The reality is that it doesn’t look much different to this day, over five months postpartum. The stretch marks are definitely less intense, but the wrinkly skin is still there, and my belly button is, well, we won’t talk about my belly button—you already know it’s a sore subject for me. I see photos of moms two or three months postpartum with totally normal tummies that, even if not totally flat, are at least taught and toned. You’d never know they’d just been stretched to kingdom come. Apparently my genetics aren’t coded that way. After my bout with stomach flu last week, I got down to a few pounds below what I was before I got pregnant with Perry, and my arms and legs are finally starting to tone. But my tummy, I fear, will never be the same. And I’m struggling with that. I was afraid to post this because it felt almost like admitting failure. It makes sense a few months out. But at some point, it must mean you’re not trying, right? Or that something is “wrong” with your body? And then on the flip side, I felt like a failure for not owning what motherhood has done to my body so far. I’m trying not to be embarrassed at the pool or wonder what the other girls think when they see my stomach. I try to tell myself they’re not feeling sorry for me or sending up subconscious thanks that their stomachs are flat and toned. I try to be realistic, too, because number two is not far behind and I know I can’t worry about what my body looks like when my baby making days aren’t even over. I don’t have any ground breaking statement to make or lesson to share since I’m still deep in the trenches with this one. My original caption simply said, “We did it all for the glory of love.” Maybe I should have just left it at that.

23rd Sip


Last night Perry slept 5 hrs and 3 hrs. Much better than the atrocity that was the night before. And we just woke up from a delicious two-hour nap. She has never been a consistently good sleeper, and sleep training has always felt like, “It’s all Greek to me.” I’ve resorted to letting her (carefully) co-sleep with me a lot of nights. Which is precious, but not entirely practical. She’s also always been a bit of a noisy sleeper (much less so now) and Matt had to start retreating to the couch to get any sleep, cause unfortunately he’s not blessed with the typical male brain that can sleep through night time feedings and diaper changes. Sleep deprivation is a crazy thing! It rewires my brain for mild insanity.  But morning always comes, and with it, a renewed sense of strength. Honestly, I don’t know how mothers physically survive pregnancy, and then survive childbirth. Then, with no recovery time, have to survive sleepless nights and more physical changes while our bodies try to heal. Then you get brave enough to turn around and do it all over again. It’s shown me in a whole new way how strong the power of Love is. Matt and I look at each other daily and comment on how we’d do anything for our daughter. We’re wrapped around her finger. This life is savage and yet beautiful. Rugged and yet irresistible. With love as the sinews and rivers that flow through and bind us together. I’ll remind myself to take a few more deep breaths on the long nights. The nights may be long, but the years are so short.


22nd Sip


Disclaimer: I resisted the urge to edit out my fluffy belly button. The reality is that most of you wouldn’t even have noticed if I hadn’t said anything (go ahead, zoom in. I give you permission). I don’t mind the stretch marks, but I’m having a harder time embracing my new belly button. Around week 22 of pregnancy, my belly button started to protrude like a little balloon. I thought it would go away after Perry was born, but the balloon remains. Any other issues I have are totally self-inflicted because I keep telling myself I’m gonna do planks and exercise every day. Guess how many days I’ve done planks (or exercised) since she was born? One. Yep. ONCE. So I’m not allowed to complain cause I haven’t put much (any) effort in. Breastfeeding has taken the weight off, but I don’t feel as healthy or strong as I wish I did. All of this aside, motherhood has filled my heart and soul and I’ve never been more convinced of God’s love and goodness. My body is a vessel, not a vase.


21st Sip


These are just a few photos of so, so many! The newborn stage really does fly by impossibly fast. I’d relive it over and over in a second.

Click here for a video taken seconds after they handed her to me: Perry’s Birth Story: Photos and Video

Perry2018-01-13 15:54:03.841Sustenance for the support team.

Perry2018-01-13 15:54:30.787Hello, daddy-to-be!

Perry2018-01-13 15:55:45.746Perry2018-01-13 15:57:09.342Post-Epidural.

Perry2018-01-13 15:57:16.522Perry2018-01-13 15:57:26.346Rest.

Perry2018-01-13 15:57:41.318Ready and waiting!

Perry2018-01-13 15:58:28.736Contractions…

Perry2018-01-13 16:05:50.474Babies never stop needing their mothers.

PerryIMG_6243IN LOVE.

PerryIMG_6270Tiny feet.

PerryIMG_6343Beacham, party of three!

PerryIMG_6354Love at first sight.

PerryIMG_6372Thumbsucker. She forgot how once we introduced her pacifier and is just now rediscovering her thumb at almost 5 months. Fine by me!

PerryIMG_6375More kisses than I’ll ever be able to count.

PerryIMG_6348Don’t mind the ’98 timestamps. This was before I learned I could remove/edit it for the current year. Taken with HujiCam app.


PerryIMG_6350“Hi! I’m Perry!”

PerryIMG_6376Taking her home. The rest is history.

20th Sip


After 40 weeks and 4 days of a textbook pregnancy, Perry Lenore Beacham joined us on Saturday, January 13, at 6:26 p.m. weighing 7 lbs 13 oz and measured 20.5 inches long.

Aside from chronic sciatica that began as soon as I started showing, a small sub-chronic hemorrhage we found at 29 weeks that healed by week 38, and subsequent pelvic rest which was a party and a half, I loved being pregnant. Feeling her kick was my favorite thing and sometimes I still feel ghost kicks–bizarre! But sure enough, by the time I’d been pregnant for 38 weeks, I was OVER IT. Everyone expected her to come early. So after 8 weeks of prodromal labor and two weeks of a light PUPPP rash, I had my membranes swept on Thursday the 11th (two days after her due date) to try to get labor going. We also scheduled an induction for the following Monday morning if labor hadn’t began on its own over the weekend.

My sister, Chelsea, had already been with us for a month in case the baby came early, and my mom flew down the same day I had my membrane sweep. The following day, Friday, Mom and Chels convinced me and Matt to dress up and go on a date since we didn’t know when we’d get a chance to do that again. I’ll be forever grateful for that last date night just the two of us! All through dinner I could tell something was different and the Braxton Hicks contractions started to get more intense.

We got home around 9 p.m. and I changed in to PJs. Matt took some photos of my stomach to document how huge I’d gotten—so glad we have them!—and 11 p.m. on Friday the 12th is when I can pinpoint the exact start of the actual discomfort of labor. However, I didn’t know it at the time because I’d already experienced all of the early labor symptoms for weeks and it had always ended up going away as soon as I laid down. So I didn’t say anything, expecting it to fizzle out again.

But fizzle out they did not! I hardly slept that night, timing contractions at 10-15 minutes apart. I did get a little sleep somewhere between 3 and 6 a.m. but was aware of the contractions even in my sleep as if I was dreaming them. When I woke up, I was so surprised to still be contracting. I started timing them again at around 7 minutes apart. By 8 a.m., I was having to breathe through the cramps and was gripping our headboard. I wish I had realized I was actually in labor sooner, but because I had experienced false labor so many times, I didn’t say anything to Matt or my mom until I got up to go to the bathroom around 8:30 a.m. If I’d let them know I was experiencing consistent contractions in the middle of the night, my Dad and Adriana might have been able to make it in time as they’d stopped at a hotel on their drive down from Kalispell. Thankfully, they were able to FaceTime in. Hindsight is 20/20.

When I went to the bathroom, I passed the mucous plug. As soon as I stood up, the pain went from a 3 to a 5, and by the time I made it to the living room to tell my mom, I was in tears. I think this was more from overwhelming hormones and the realization that I was in labor than from pain at that point. But it just got worse from there, and by the time I was dressed (which took forever), my contractions were 3 minutes apart and I was in the, “Don’t touch me, I’m in pain,” mode.

I’d had the hospital bag packed since week 30. But inevitably, I wasn’t as prepared as I’d envisioned I’d be. It was survival mode at that point. In the future, I’ll keep it simple and prioritize comfortable granny panties and a container for ice chips (what a LIFE SAVER) over a cute “Going Home” outfit, cause, let’s be real… I didn’t feel cute for weeks. Function ends up making you feel more comfortable than feeling fashionable. The essentials ended up being a hair tie, flip flops, socks, toothbrush, dry shampoo, and phone charger. Next time I’ll just be taking the essentials and adding a comfortable sweatshirt/sweatpants and my own pillow. The hospital had everything else I needed.

By the time we got to the hospital, I was crying and breathing through the contractions to cope with the pain. I was miserable. But I learned I have a higher pain tolerance than I thought. I know mom-gear also kicked in and helped me cope, because I am well known for my wuss-dom when it comes to pain and all things medical.

Without a doubt, the most pain I experienced the entire day—possibly in my entire life—was when the on-call OB first checked to see how much I was dilated. I went into a contraction just as he started to investigate and I kid you not, I experienced out of body pain and uttered sounds I’d only heard in movie representations of agony. I was only 3 centimeters dilated at that point, but they admitted me because my contractions were 3 minutes apart. I was SO thankful. By this time it was close to 10 a.m.

Around 11 a.m., they moved us into our private delivery room where we would stay until she was born. It was fantastic. Everyone was able to be in the room together, it had a beautiful view and was filled with natural sunlight, and I was so thankful to be able to be vocal through my contractions without disturbing other moms in labor. Matt’s parents had also scheduled to fly in that day because we figured by the 13th she’d either have arrived already, or would arriving soon. It was a God thing, because they landed at 11 and were able to come straight to the hospital from the airport.

As for an epidural, the anesthesiologist was in a C-section for the foreseeable future, and we were told I might not get an epidural if a more urgent case came up in the meantime. So I was incredibly thankful when she showed up to administer the epidural around 1 p.m. I’ve always been a worrier who over thinks the worst-case scenario and as much as I knew I wanted the drugs, I was terrified of the minuscule percentage chance that I’d be one of the women who ends up paralyzed or with permanent nerve damage. So midway through the procedure, my brain started to race like it always does when I’m scared, which then gets my heart rate up, which makes me feel like I’m going to pass out. So they had to stop and make sure I wasn’t going to faint on them. I was leaning on Matt, who was a ROCK the entire day. I also can’t believe he never passed out, because we’re two peas in a pod that way. He rose to the occasion above and beyond to be there for me. God was also seriously helping me out in that moment to help me reign in my thoughts, rally my gumption, and will myself to remain conscious and calm. I know without a shadow of a doubt that He also stopped my contractions, because I didn’t have one the entire time they were administering the epidural which took about 7 minutes, and they’d been consistently at 3-5 minutes since 9 a.m. The miracle wasn’t lost on me.

Once the epidural set in, I obviously felt SO much better. It set in good though, and I couldn’t move or feel my legs at all. They checked my cervix again around 2 p.m. and I had dilated to 6 cm. I’m so thankful they didn’t try to check me again before the epidural because it was the single worst pain I’ve ever been in in my life. The nurse eventually gave me a peanut ball and turned me on my left side to help the baby transition. Around 3 p.m., the on-call OB came in and broke my water. It was so strange to have absolutely no feeling or muscle strength and to still be able to feel all of the fluid rushing out. Still not sure how that worked. I felt the fluid for the next few hours, but no pain. No complaints here.

Everything was finally feeling fantastic and I was able to put some makeup on, which really only helped how I felt and not how I looked because you can’t tell the difference between before and after in any of the pictures. I was pale, fat, and getting puffier by the second with all of the IV fluids they were pumping into me. I also discovered the beauty of ice chips. I’d always thought it was a cliche of labor and delivery, but those things are for REAL. I LOVE ICE CHIPS.

At about 3:30 p.m., I started to have a non-stop and violent cramp in my left side that freaked me out because I knew I was partially numbed in that area from the epidural and knew that as much pain as I was feeling with the epidural, I was probably experiencing a scary amount of pain in “real life.” I think it was back labor, partially triggered by baby’s position and from being on my side with my right leg up over the peanut ball (also an awesome labor and delivery “accessory”). The flipped me over to my right side and put a heating pad on the cramping area, and it went away after a few minutes. I was so thankful… can’t image having had to cope with that any longer than I did.

By about 4 p.m., I had dilated to 9 and 3/4 centimeters. I’m not sure how the nurse was that precise. Either way, I was almost there and she started having me practice pushing. However, because the epidural was so strong, they were pretty ineffective at that point.

The kicker is that around 4:30 p.m., I felt the epidural start to wear off out of the blue. It was the weirdest thing. I think it must have slipped a bit in the moving around we did for the side cramp, because it was there one minute and significantly gone the next. So that was awesome, because it was time for me to start really pushing (sense my sarcasm). They had the anesthetist come back in to up the dosage, but at that point I was at constant a pain level of 7, even in between contractions. It did take the edge off enough for me to cope I think, but I was in pain for the rest of my labor experience. The blessing in disguise is that it made pushing more effective.

Here’s another kicker. My nurse had me start pushing at the same time the epidural wore off to help get her moving down the birth canal. HOWEVER, they apparently didn’t alert the on-call doctor from my doctor’s office in time for him to be there for much of the pushing process. Turns out, nurses aren’t allowed to deliver a baby without a doctor present unless it’s under extreme emergency circumstances. So for about 45 minutes, I had to STOP PUSHING while she was just chilling in my hooha. I was feeling EVERYTHING. It was such a bizarre and painful sensation. I was just trying to cope and remain calm, but my family was quite irate on my behalf. I did almost lose it a little bit when the nurse finally offered that the hospital’s on-call OB could come deliver the baby, but that my doctor’s office on-call OB was about 3 minutes away after rushing through traffic from the other side of town. I didn’t give a you-know-what as to who delivered the baby (oh, I forgot to mention the critical detail that MY OB WAS OUT OF TOWN, because they’re ALWAYS OUT OF TOWN!!!), but I swallowed the frustration because I knew at that point it was was it was and I needed to focus on remaining calm. It ended up being worth the wait because the OB that showed up (a partner of my regular doc) was INCREDIBLE and was exactly the personality we needed in the room at that point. He was seriously fantastic. He came with guns blazing, kindness, reassurance, and just the right dose of humor.

PUSHING. Good grief. I have never expended so much energy in my life. I don’t even have words for how hard it was. Draining and overwhelming doesn’t even begin to describe it. Not to mention that I was in so much pain. I had my Chels on one leg and Matt on the other, and my Mom there by my head. The beauty and relief of having the three of them there physically and emotionally supporting me through that was immeasurable. Wanda was in the room as well, and my dad and Adriana were FaceTiming in as they drove. We were able to get Taylor in on FaceTime just after she arrived. I was so thankful to be surrounded by my family. During the pregnancy I wasn’t sure how I’d feel when it came down to it, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

By the time she crowned and they were telling me she had a full head of black hair, it was just what I needed to give me the strength to keep pushing because I was reaching the end of my rope. I also remember being surprised I didn’t feel specific pain or tearing… it was a more general pain than I’d imagined I’d feel. I was able to lean forward just enough to see her head once it was out, too. UNREAL. I mean. How bizarre. Childbirth, people. It’s unreal. You grow a human in your stomach? And then push it out? What even?!

I can vividly remember what the final push felt like, and Perry being placed on my chest. There are no words, so I won’t even try to describe it. She recognized my voice and looked up into my eyes while they scrubbed her off. I’ve never felt love, awe and relief like that.

Also, that oxytocin rush is for real! I smiled the entire time I was being stitched up, which surprised me because somewhere buried deep inside the rush I was telling myself I should be freaking out. But all I could do was smile. At that point she was being cleaned/measured/weighed/etc. by the nurses but I could hear her beautiful newborn cry and my family was giving me updates from across the room.

The general beauty is all captured in photos, and I’ll do a separate post for them. They tell the story of those moments better than I can.

As for postpartum recovery, it definitely blindsided me. I felt like my entire body had been pulverized with a baseball bat. Everything hurt. My diaphragm felt like it couldn’t support my lungs when I stood up. Sitting hurt for weeks, going to the bathroom hurt for weeks, moving hurt for weeks. I had been so anxious to get her out that I failed to do my research on the fact that I would be even more miserable after she arrived. I’m more scared of experiencing the two weeks after delivery than going through actual labor again. But I’m over the hump and finally feeling back to normal. Albeit, a new normal where my belly button floofs out and I’m surviving on less sleep than I ever thought possible… and we don’t even need to talk about what breastfeeding has done to my already well endowed boobs.

Speaking of which. My milk didn’t come in till day 4, and that first week was agony. It hurt SO BAD. I mean, SO BAD. Thank you so much to all of the moms who gave advice and tips via my mom on Facebook! It was so, so helpful and encouraging. I’m incredibly thankful we made it through the rough patch, because I absolutely love breastfeeding now. It’s a mandatory break I get to take every few hours to cuddle and bond with my precious girl. It’s occurred to me that prayer should be the same thing. A quiet respite to take a deep breath, pour it out to God, and leave feeling refreshed.

Whew. There are SO many little details, facets and nuances to pregnancy, the beauty of the day she was born, and these first 4 and a half months of parenthood that I wish I could write about, but I’ll need to save it for another time. We’re already gearing up to start planning for baby number two… where can parents sign up for their superhero capes?

19th Sip


Preface: Wonder Woman is among the greatest films I have EVER seen. THANK YOU to all of the women and men involved in that movie. Below are some thoughts I’ve been mulling over since Diana Prince became my favorite superhero of all time.

I saw Wonder Woman with my sister the other night. I had been hesitant to, and I’ll do my best to try to explain why. I am not a feminist. You might want to write me off or start throwing rocks as I know this is not seen as educated or progressive, but I have to be honest in saying that there is much about what the feminist movement has become today that does not jive with what I believe. Maybe that’s more of a personal preference than a moral assessment, but I have often been acutely unsettled by the method and the madness. For those of you that do identify as feminist, I am not lumping all of you into one category. That would be naive, un-kind, narrow-minded, and impossible. But I do feel like much of the goodness about the concept of feminism–all encompassing femininity and womanhood, as I define it–is drowned out under the perverted noise and never-ending volley between what seems to have become a cultural game of who can be the most abrasive or cutting, as if that shows power. I’m old-fashioned through and through, because I think something beautiful and special about woman-kind has been almost erased from existence. The very real oppression women have experienced over the years is not unique to our sex, and is a symptom of the same evil that caused The Crusades, The Holocaust, the near wiping out of North American Indians, slavery, The Inquisition, racism (a tragedy that women were and are just as responsible for as men), the sex-trade, child abuse, spousal abuse, emotional abuse, and the list goes on and on for nearly as long as humanity has walked the earth.

Diana Prince gave me hope for the first time in years.

In one fell swoop, Wonder Woman 2017 separated being a strong woman from being a feminist.

Hear me out.

Diana Prince was not a feminist.

She just wasn’t, because her fight was never for mere equality.

It hardly seemed on her radar.

Diana was a woman.

A good woman.

A kind woman.

A principled woman.

A fearless woman.

A loving woman.

A supportive woman.

She knew how to be the supporter and the leader.

The protector and the defender.

It was never “one or the other.”

Her sense of identity defeated any chance of even fearing the concept of being in another’s shadow.

Diana Prince never demanded anything because she was a woman.

Anything she did demand was on track with her fight to eradicate evil.

The courtroom scene stands out to me:

The men were appalled at the presence of a woman in their place of politics.

She never flinched at their prejudice.

Never even reacted.

It was almost as if she didn’t even notice,

As if she was blind to the very existence of prejudice.

She just “was.”

And because of who she was, she just “did.”

She never tried to be a man.

It was never a competition.

Not even once.

There was only purpose.

Any notion of a fight for equality evaporated under her sense of justice.

Justice for others.

For everyone.

Not for herself.

She never picketed.

Never demeaned.

Never belittled.

She stood for goodness.

The kind of goodness that is real and rare.

She managed to be idealistic in a dark situation that demanded she make difficult decisions.

She learned to separate the goodness in man from the darkness they often succumbed to.

She battled, struggled and grappled with what love really means.

She knew that it was not something that could be earned or deserved.

It was simply given.

Her strength and independence never emasculated the one she loved.

Instead, it highlighted the beauty of their need for each other.

Oh, that women today would be like Diana Prince.

We are not called to be feminist.

We are called to be women.

Women not bound by entitlement.

Or filled with rage and an obsession for revenge.

Women who’s strength grows in direct correlation to our understanding of love.

Love, like respect or forgiveness,

Is simply given.

True womanhood is selflessness.

True love is selflessness. (Also see: Steve Trevor)

It’s not about what is deserved. (See: Dr. Poison, a female antagonist)

It’s about what is believed.

Thank you, Princess Diana of Themyscira.

I want to be a Wonder Woman.

“Only love can save this world. So I stay. I fight, and I give, for the world I know can be. This is my mission. Now, forever.” Diana Prince, Wonder Woman 2017

P.S. AND THIS IS AN IMPORTANT “P.S.” I could go on and on about my love for this movie, but a lot of it has already been said. I love all of the jiggly thighs, wrinkle lines, and stretch marks. I love that she didn’t have a perfect blowout in every action scene (but who am I kidding, Gal Gadot is one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever seen). I’m in awe of the nod they gave to the dimensions of not only strength and love, but also of pain, that comes with being a woman who fights for good in an evil world. I was reminded of Biblical women like Rahab, Deborah, Jael, and Abigail, all warriors in their own right… some with the weight of blood on their hands, as did Diana. Even more incredible is that this movie did not have a God-complex. The Greek mythology mirrored Biblical accounts of the origin of evil, and the concept of God was not skewed into being seen as anything but good. I also deeply admire the way they chose to depict the women on Themyscira: honorable, fierce, tender, selfless, brave–and yet not afraid to show fear (for example, Diana’s mother, Hippolyta, wanted to keep her safe… with pure love being her motivation)–filled with purpose, and without a trace of conniving, manipulation, jealousy, or distain for each other (or for men, I might add). May this be what womanhood comes to mean, and let it begin with me.

P.S.S. I just read through a bit of a comment thread discussing the scrutiny Gal Gadot’s body received due to being cast as Wonder Woman. Almost every comment was from a male complaining that a “shapeless woman” had been cast for Wonder Woman. SAY WHAT. I mean…. WHAT?! According to them, she didn’t have big enough hips, was too skinny, and her boobs weren’t big enough. Cue my own battle with rage, God help me. This aspect of the feminist movement I do agree with. But objectification of women stems from the same evil mentioned above. It comes from a complete lack of respect for women, largely coddled and encouraged by the unhealthy expectations that come from the pornography industry, which caters directly to the heart of human selfishness. I don’t have anything further to say about this, and I have no idea as to a solution beyond the eradication of evil and the sure hope of Heaven. If the child inside of me is a boy, I pray that I raise him to be a good man that chooses to funnel his desires into the woman he loves with everything he has to give.

It’s all a battle, folks. All of life is a war.

Good wins.


18th Sip


If you Google the socially acceptable amount of time to wait before announcing a pregnancy, it quotes twelve weeks as the general “safe zone.”

The reality is that any of us could go at any time. A baby could be lost at a week or at five months, at birth or at five years old. Any of us could go at any time. Life is to be celebrated.

Matt and I just found out last week that I’m pregnant again. I’m almost six weeks along. It was a bit of a surprise as it’s only been two months since I miscarried and we weren’t exactly doing any baby-planning math.

The fear that I was certain I’d feel hasn’t set in yet, and I suppose it’s because I haven’t fully let myself invest. I’m told that’s natural. I know it’s a defense mechanism… maybe apathy is what I should have been afraid of, because it means I’m essentially refusing to deal with the fear, or pain. Or love. I don’t think it’s as negative as that sounds, but I do have to be honest with myself.

The reality is that I want this baby more than I’m even brave enough to admit at this moment in time. I don’t want that heartbreak or disappointment again, but I am hyper aware of the fact that dear friends have dealt with loss many times without promise of an end. I didn’t think it would happen to me, not the first time. But I do know it could happen again.

And even so, it is well.

I was dreading today. I know that if I weren’t pregnant right now it would feel very different. I have a glimmer of hope that soothes the grief. A part of my heart is still tucked away in that plastic drawer under my bathroom sink, with that first pregnancy test and the little “You are Loved” onesie I used to surprise Matt. But part of my heart has crawled out and is timidly emerging to soak up the sunshine. Opening up and laying vulnerable even to the rain, if it comes.

I know there are loving and protective folks that would caution us to keep this private until it’s safe. But I’ve always known that isn’t my nature. I wear my heart on my sleeve, it’s just part of my DNA. We also know that God uses every single detail of life, no matter how minute or ginormous, to ultimately open our eyes to dimensions of His love and goodness that we can’t fathom otherwise. There are also other families that are walking this same path, and we should be walking it together. No kind of grief or pain should be carried alone. There’s more than enough love, support and hope to go around.

May we look for the good in every situation, and may God and His beautiful plan be our definition of that goodness!

Happy Mother’s Day!