There's no denying it. I am officially a stalker. Via social media. It's bad, too. I'm hitting my target sites for my point of obsession AT LEAST 10-20 times a day. Sometimes I just leave them up and refresh occasionally.
I can't stop thinking about Layla. I visit the blog, the facebook page, watch for tweets. ::Sigh:: She's just a baby girl. I keep looking for a miracle. THE post, you know. The one that announces the ultimate healing power of my God. Because I know He can. And even knowing that Heaven is a perfect place... I'm hoping He will. I prayed so hard tonight (or early this morning... it's 3am) that my hands shook. I cried. I begged. Then I cried some more. I pleaded for her to have the opportunity to have a first day of school, to have a "best friend forever", to make pictures of Thanksgiving turkeys out of her handprint for her parents, to buy a new dress for a school dance, to fight with her sisters over the bathroom, to argue with her parents about curfews, have a crush on a boy, go on a first date, get a speeding ticket... any and all of the things that a normal girl gets growing up and doesn't think twice about.
I've shed so many tears over this child that I don't even know. I am just so heartbroken for her. For her family. In her pictures, the most recent ones, she looks tired. Just tired. And that pulls at everything in me. The mother in me. The woman in me. The HUMAN in me. When I think about the situation, I feel like I'm choking on rocks. Black thick stones of wrong. They settle in my stomach, growing slowly heavier while I look at pictures of a blue-eyed 2 year-old with her new puppy.
So. A miracle. That's all I'm looking for. A small, little girl sized miracle.