Our home may not be built of bricks yet, but it is built of love.
Each morning, I watch my little seven-year-old daughter run into my arms and call me Mama, and my heart swells with gratitude.
I look at my husband — the man who stayed — and I see God's mercy made flesh.
Now, by His grace, another child is on the way, another sign that our story continues.
Sometimes I sit outside and think of all we've survived — the hunger, the loss, the fire, the fear.
Then I look at my children's faces and whisper, "God, thank You for carrying us when we couldn't walk."
We haven't reached the life we dreamed of, but we're on the road, and
Your story isn't over just because it hurts right now.
The road may be long, but every step has meaning.
When you can't trace God's hand, trust His heart — He's still writing your tomorrow.