I open the car door, sit down, take a moment to breath. There is a bit of peace in this moment alone. My head spins, but doesn't settle.

I turn on music, trying to drown out a bit of the ramble in my head. A bit of all that needs to get done, but more so the heaviness of the morning. Learning new names, a new group, new stories. Hearing of rape and abuse and lack of dreams. And the normality of  how it was shared.

The music doesn't help. I let the morning play through in my head.

I think of the next group, the one tonight, and the heaviness goes deeper. I think of the Bible passage where Jesus is weeping over the city of Jerusalem. I can only imagine. I think of the bit of sorrow I carry as I walk along side a few. I can't imagine knowing the full extent of hurt, of hell, that goes on in the world. What must that sorrow be like?

I pick up the girls from kindy and school; hold them close.

I sat with a friend this afternoon. Sat down to coffee. She put out afternoon tea for the kids. We talked deep and we talked surface. I'm sure she doesn't realize the sweetness it was for my soul.

Clint got home. Passing over of kids, dinner, evening responsibilities. He held me as I cried. I headed out to the next group. I pray for grace.

The day was heavy, and yet there was encouragement, some surprises tonight. Some of the conversations of today seem to continue in despair - problems to big, patterns too hard to change. And yet, there are glimpses of hope, new found truths, the trying of new strategies.

As this day draws to a close, I'm amazed how beauty and sorrow, rejoicing and mourning, can go hand and hand.