When I was pregnant at 23, I devoured parenting books. My husband
and I bucked the current trend to wait for children: Our first son
was born the day after our one-year anniversary. We adopted the
cry-it-out method in a studio apartment. I quit my job and spent
precious hours shoveling sand, watching boats, and picking flowers.
As much as I wholeheartedly embraced motherhood, I had no idea how
self-revealing it is—how tangible the gospel message becomes when
we have to flesh it out with
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