Look!” I said to my husband, Roger, pointing to the budding purple wisteria branches. “The mourning doves have built a nest!” As I watched the gray doves take turns coming and going in shifts to sit on their eggs, the waves of grief I still felt over my son Steven’s death three years earlier came less frequently. Here in our backyard was yet another of God’s reminders that he would always be there to reassure and comfort me.
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