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Antifungals. Limit your sugar—”
    A three-year-old biter was pushed forward next. His mother, almost in tears and afraid to check him into the nursery—he’d bitten half the class the week before—hugged Karol after she finished dispensing more of Hope’s secondhand advice.
    â€œThank you,” she said softly. “He’s really a good boy. I don’t know why he does it.”
    Karol nodded and gave the young mom a squeeze. Having a child do things that other people didn’t understand could be embarrassing and even hurtful. Though church was supposed to be a place of grace and healing, people were still people and nobody wanted to see teeth marks on their kid—Karol included.
    â€œIf it doesn’t get better right away, you may have to keep him with you in the overflow room for a few weeks. I had to do that with Judah and he still has his moments now and then, but for the most part, he’s over it.” She left out the fact that Judah still took a bite out of Mia now and then. No sense putting the woman over the edge, right?
    As time wound down before service started, Karol hugged and helped all the women she could, all the time feeling like the biggest hypocrite on earth. On the way to church, Mia had thrown her shoe out of the window and Karol had nearly been run over when she pulled off the shoulder to get it.
    And now she was standing in the foyer like some sort of Supermom, giving out advice when she really wanted to run to the bathroom and cry. Though she loved Hope and appreciated all her friend had taught her, she couldn’t imagine how Hope managed to help all these women and run her own houseful. Karol had been hard pressed to stuff Mia into a dress and get her to church with both shoes. And yet, these women thought she had all the answers.
    It was funny, but scary, too. Karol couldn’t have been more relieved when she finally made her way into the sanctuary. The service flew by on mandolin strings and beats from the drums the last visiting missionaries had brought from Kenya. It was a unique and soothing sound.
    Pastor Newton’s sermon had been moving and informative as usual, but Karol found her mind wandering toward grocery lists and her mothering goals for the week: working with Mia on writing her name for kindergarten, getting Judah to help her in the kitchen with dinner and trying to get Ryan to make friends with someone who wasn’t a fictional character or historical figure. She had her work cut out for her, especially on the last count. Ryan was now old enough to join the youth group, but after two Sundays there without Hope’s sons, Aaron and Anthony, Ryan had slid into the pew beside Rob and Karol this morning without offering any explanations. Though she wanted to question him, a sharp nod from Rob kept Karol from dong so.
    On the one hand, Karol was relieved. Some of the boys in the youth group were much older and more experienced than Ryan. She’d thought he might do better in joining the group after the eighth grade when he’d had a little more time to grow up. At the same time, though, each week that went by without him making any new friends, drew him further and further into the world of books, a place even Karol had a hard time pulling him out of sometimes. Rob didn’t seem too worried. “There are a lot worse things the boy could get into besides reading. And think about it, Karol, he gets it from you.”
    That was exactly what worried her. Karol’s love for books had led her down many roads, including a crazy attempt to be published when Ryan was young. Hope had helped her see the sense in focusing on raising her children instead of trying to fulfill some impossible dream. Somehow, though, that dream, or some part of it, had been passed on to Ryan. There were still boxes under her bed full of writing no one had ever seen—and never would see. Even this morning, she’d climbed into her window seat