Deeply Disappointed, Greatly Loved: Trusting Our Father’s Painful ‘No’

You are not answering my prayers, I repeated, a scowl in my voice that sounded more murderer than missionary.My arms were about to give out after fifteen hours of flying with my double-ear-infection infant, whose screams drew every eye toward me, either in pity or loathing. My hands still reeked of my six-year-old’s vomit, which I had caught an hour earlier. My husband might have given me a break if he weren’t in the bathroom scrubbing his pants after our toddler’s diaper leaked brown everywhere