What if my twin girls’ seemingly meaningless melodramas were not a punishment but rather a mercy from the Lord? A daily opportunity to die to myself? To root out impatience and self-indulgence. To grow my capacity for both empathy and tenacity. To make me a more creative mama. And ultimately, to drive me to my knees at the foot of the hard, painful, bloody cross my Savior endured, not randomly or without purpose but for my ultimate benefit. What if good could come from being dragged through the emotional wringer on the daily? What if, instead of despising the hard and kicking at it in contempt
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