Faith can feel like nothing. It’s a promise that doesn’t necessarily tantalize the senses; yet it is there, firm as can be. Real as the leaves that are budding, fresh and green outside my window. I believe that I belong, am cared for and loved, like the little, panting, happy pooch that just strolled by my window in front of his owner. I feel the baby in me stretch lazily against my ribs, and realize I can enjoy the comfort of a womb-like bubble of protection too, through what God has provided. So I can just be, listening to fun summer tunes, drinking a Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino at Starbucks’ happy hour, watching a little boy twist a transformer, writing on an eight year old Mac, and wondering about when I’m going to have this baby.