I’m reading the bible chronologically this year. Every morning finds my clunky, awkward journaling bible propped halfway between an armchair and an endtable, coffee spilling with each elbow bump as I turn pages with one hand and hold my nursing baby with the other. Sometimes my eyes are so heavy I can’t remember which part of the Tabernacle I was reading about two minutes before. Sometimes I re-read a passage three times as my two-year-old interrupts with tears or toys.








