Daisy is walking. That's right. Walking. She's eight months old. Crazy, genius baby.

She is also the light of our lives. We all just giggle when we see her. We're obsessed.

I've been thinking tonight about how close we came to losing her. I am remembering the horror of holding my convulsing, screaming, vomiting baby.

I am remembering how merciful Jesus has been to us. I don't know why we get to keep Daisy when other parents lose their babies. I don't know why I get to snuggle her until she falls asleep while other mamas ache for the warm, squishy flesh of their sleeping babies. I don't know why. But I'm grateful. And at the same time I sit in that sadness with every parent who has lost their child. I hurt for you while I whisper gratitude for my kids.

Yesterday I pulled out my camera and watched my kids play together. Tonight I'm holding a sleeping Daisy, looking through yesterday's photos and praying for a friends nephew who was carried away in a flood. The contrast is so stark. I have not stopped praying for him, for his family. I'm sick to my stomach. And I'm gripping my own baby tight.

Jesus have mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.