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A miscarriage can turn the joy of pregnancy into a harrowing ordeal. More than the womb longs for healing. Today, I was reminded…
My wife, Penney, and I were making the hours-long drive home. I attended the 2019 Oregon Connections Telecommunications Conference in Ashland, Oregon, and now we were headed back to Lincoln City. Penney was crocheting a cute little elephant to pass the time as I drove. While I was at the conference, she had gone exploring in the quaint little shops across the street from the beautiful and peaceful Lithia Park. The shops were an eclectic mix of American images — antique stores and craft stores, stores that sold cheap knick-knacks and expensive, breathtaking art, bookstores and drugstores, coffee shops with artisan pastry, and ice cream shops with sweet sprinkles. She found the elephant in a crinkly plastic bag, hanging on a hook, looking at her and smiling coyly.
The elephant seemed to wink at her. “Crochet me!”
“Oh-ho,” she replied, “I’ll buy you, and crochet you, and then I’ll use the pattern to crochet your brothers and sisters! I know some children who want to love you very much!”
And that’s how it came to be, that I was driving home, and Penney was beside me crocheting the elephant’s gray bottom, with the pattern in her lap. But then, she stopped crocheting, and studied the pattern…