I'm still here.

We're still unpacking.

Our walls are still completely bare.

Two books of checks and four debit cards from our joint checking accounts are still missing and just for kicks, so are the parts to our refrigerator doors.

Parker's face still has just a few (not many) remnants of the rash he's had on it since Saturday from Roseola, a virus his pediatrician diagnosed him with on Monday.

My mom is still here.

Jim is still traveling.  He woke up in Atlanta, Georgia this morning with one last reception to oversee. He comes home late tonight.

Jake is still snoring as he lays right next to me in bed. He still has yet to sleep in his own because his little body next to mine while Jim's away is simply irresistible.

The gash in our ceiling is still there but doesn't look quite as bad as it used to since Jim has cut away the damaged sheetrock.  Gashes...schmashes...

And more often than I do, I should say to me, "Be still (You are only one person with two hands and one heart.  He will be better tomorrow than he is today just as his pediatrician said.  It will all get done...maybe not today or even the next...but eventually, everything will have it's place and be in it.) and know that He is God."

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