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When I was a little girl, one of our family’s holiday traditions was that my brothers and I each got to open one gift on Christmas Eve.
Every year, we spent most of December carefully examining the presents that appeared beneath the tree. And, by Christmas Eve, the gift we had chosen to open was the most coveted one under the tree!
Change the past? Huh?
Do you think maybe I’m being a little presumptuous — or maybe a little ignorant — to even suggest that changing the past is possible?
Oh girl, I wish I could change some things about my past and I know you do too!
We’ve all got stuff… stuff that happened to us that we wish we could change. We’ve all got stuff… stuff we’ve done we wish we could undo.
But, we can’t.
I think I cry on the 4th of July and Memorial Day more often than I cry at weddings and sappy movies! When “America the Beautiful”, “God Bless America” or “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” are played I swell with gratefulness and patriotism.
When I consider the soldiers separated from their families, enduring great hardship in hostile lands, and fighting for our freedom, my eyes well up with tears.
I am infected. I got the infection in Ecuador. I caught it from a nine-year-old boy named Martin. He lives in a one room house in Quito with his two sisters. Their mother died three years ago and shortly after her death, their father left and hasn’t been seen since.
They live alone.
Martin, his two sisters and his little cousin in their home in Quito, Ecuador.
