by Paula Neal Mooney In the shower, I dropped my face into my palms and cried; brief, audible weeping, drowned out by the sound of water streaming. It was Saturday, May 12, 2001. In two days, my husband was scheduled to return to work. For the first time in more than a decade, I would not return to corporate America. My new job was caretaker for our 2-week-old baby boy, swathed in his blue-striped, long-sleeved onesie, languishing horizontally in bed facing me, as I fell in love with his copper curly locks, his flashes of a smile dawning. Outside of Christ, walking and writing became my salvation during those extended and isolated days — just me and my baby trotting on the edge of the world in California, where the storms rolled in unencumbered from the Pacific. While my husband toiled away at a company, I wiled away the blistering hot days strolling my son around our picturesque ghost-town...
Wheel in the Sky Keeps on Turning...