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We fingered the rocks tucked deep in the folds of our pockets — all of us, adults and children, as the lake wind whipped against our bodies. The clouds hung low and the air whistled through the trees bowing low to the water. The rocks offered opportunity for us to join their genuflect.

Each rock symbolized a sin. I knew my pockets weren’t deep enough this day.

Of all days, this one went sour early. I left my morning quiet with big prayers and big intentions only to find my flesh louder than either of those on this day. I was irritable. I sought only to manage their behavior, not reach their hearts in the meantime. I overlooked successes to tweak failures. I looked at them the way I used to believe He looked at me; I had eyes for what they weren’t.

And if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

Before the sun could set on this mood  [continue reading over here on Mothers of Daughters -->]