Returning home, we encountered some expected words from the school, from the grandmother, from the daughter, and then a note. And, so, we're waiting given the words that were written in haste and defiance. It's quite difficult to allow a child the freedom to be exceedingly vulnerable. All I could think of were the stories of women who've entered my life who were transparent enough to reveal that they too struck out, they too experienced, they too became needful of God's hands and words. I entrust all to you, dear God. Please protect.

One of my women friends is writing a book from a mother's perspective, which she's allowed me to edit when I have time. Within it, I'm allowed the glimpse of what might happen and what to do and how to bend to the process. I've had to integrate this several times already. Now, I'm prepared to do the work, yet, of course, it feels uncertain and, underneath, sad.

Last night, I went out with three women friends to a restaurant and musical coffee shop. It helped to continue on. Taking care of oneself, while devoting yourself to the obligation, is supposed to be best. Fretting and stewing only compounds the wintery mix.

Today, I will wait. Seems like many of us live in the ambiguity of process, transition, gaining awareness, waiting.

I turned to Romans 14 this morning which begins with the worthy verse: "Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on disputable matters". Acceptance for where a person is can extend to daughters. Lord, stretch your arms in this fold, please.