My body wrenches again and I feel the heat rising, sweeping away my resolve in waves of nausea. My forehead is damp, my hand steaming hot against the cool of the floor.
Only a few hours earlier I had been praying "thank You, thank You God that I am not sick while the girls are..."
I hear the feverish 19 month old crying but I can't crawl from the yellow light of the bathroom all the way up the dark of stairs to reach her. All retches and reels but there is nothing left to give. God, help me... please...
"As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it."