thirteen
Thirteen years ago, two mothers gave their babies to surgeons. Two tiny hearts were removed, one exchanging hope with death, and the other exchanging death with hope.
For thirteen years I have retold this story, beating the same drum, shouting of God’s goodness, His beauty from ashes redemption, the death to life transformation of her story. While I will never tire of telling this story, I felt like I needed to find a different drum to beat, that maybe people were getting tired of this one. Then I remembered the Exodus.
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