My littlest one is sick.  I always tense up when she is sick because almost always it is asthma that is the culprit.  This time is no different.

So  here I sit in the middle of the night, listening to her wheezy breathing, soft moans as she struggles for breath.

And I pray.

And I count the hours. Five more hours until I can call the doctor. Four more hours.

  On it goes until I see the lightening of the sky and the pink hues making its way past the treetops.

Whew!  We made it.  Thank you, Jesus, for your care and your protection.

Now to the business of getting her well.

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