It is raining hard here where t live. Before It started I went out to get the dog who didn't want to come in then. Now it's pouring. The dog is hiding somewhere in the yard. And then I remember. My son is out in this too. Homeless. In this torrential rain. Me and the cats are warm and dry, inside. My son? Who knows?
Accepting that our children don't live as we would want, is not to like it, but we have choices. We can let it batter us over and over again or we can remember that their lives are theirs with G-d. And we pray. What else is there, really?
