All of my shoes have been removed from my closet. They now sit in a pile at the foot of bed. My toddler, shoe relocation engineer, beams up at me with pride, handing me the last remaining shoe.

And I’m surprised by what I feel. Not frustration about the mess, or preoccupation with the burden of bending my 7-months-pregnant self over to put them all back again. No, this morning grace whispers in my ear…