They are competitive for my attention these days. If one of them is sitting in my lap, the other one wants to be there too. When I pick up one of them at church on Sundays, the other stretches out her arms. Last Sunday, I stood during worship, one girl in each arm, thinking more about the challenge of holding them both securely than whatever song we were singing at the time. It's tempting in moments like these to miss the days when I could worship free of responsibility and distraction. But my recent book revisions have taken me back to the days we struggled with infertility, when I often looked with longing at the families in adjacent rows at church, busy, squirming little bodies everywhere. Then, I felt barren, empty. Now I am grateful to have my arms so very full.