Ten-year-old me. This little girl didn’t know it then, but the love she felt on Sunday afternoons would stay with her for a lifetime. When I was a little girl, I couldn’t wait to grow up. Birthdays couldn’t come fast enough. Getting my driver’s license. Turning 21. First boyfriend. Finishing college and starting work. It all felt like a race toward the next milestone. Now, especially as I recover from surgery and life has slowed down a bit, I find myself traveling back to earlier days. Lately my mind has been returning to small moments from my childhood when I lived at home with my parents and sister. Rainy days. Halloween costumes. And recently, Sunday afternoons. Today as the clouds rolled in and I couldn’t get outside, I remembered the Sundays of ten-year-old me. After church, my mother would stop at the local bakery and pick up a loaf of sliced rye bread, a few hard rolls, and sometimes a crumb cake. When we got home, the “play clothes” came out and our Sunday outfits a...
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