“Will you always be my stepmom?” Down went the clean laundry I was busy folding. I looked up. My stepson was watching me intently. It was just the two of us, in a rare bit of quiet. I searched for an answer.
I witnessed bitterness eat away at my husband until the very end. But it turned out I was holding onto resentments of my own.
Hidden sin, like buried resentments, makes provision for our flesh.