We sit huddled at the farmhouse table. Each morning before we head off for the day those large farmer hands take the  Ancient Words and breathe life into this family.  It is not always holy.  It is sometimes horror.  With me dissolving into laughter over someones antics and receiving a glaring look from the  farmer or the eldest son, now deep in the earth.  But this morning we are huddled together because those carefree days seem like an eternity away.  The eldest son called home. The farmer battling the wages of cancer.  And we as a family ... View Post