She cuddles up to me in the night, the first time in days and whispers, but I want more. My daughter asks me to keep her warm and I bundle her up, tuck the blanket beneath her feet, hold her tightly while my son all of one stumbles about the house, plops his head on my belly. He then goes bumbling off again. When does it end? When does sorrow and remorse give way to mercy and grace? When does despair finally, resolutely dissolve before faith?