This is our religion: sleeping with our kids.
At worst we are faithless. At best we are curious. Mainly we don’t talk about it. We keep it simple: finances, logistics, the daily doings that keep us fed and warm.
But in the late afternoon, behind closed curtains and snuggled under blankets, with one kid each — rising and falling on our chests — our eyes shyly meet and tears well in the corners. This is more than contentment and peace and wholeness. This is God.