"12 years" means something to me, personally.  On May 10, 2000, the life of my husband and me changed.  The was the day that the Los Alamos' Cerro Grande fire broke out.  We had only recently come to Los Alamos as residents, because our son lived here, and we had fixed up one of the charming old condos from the Manhattan Project years, even refinishing the beautiful wood floors under the carpets.  It was not supposed to be our main home, but a place to visit our son and any children he would soon have.  

The fire wiped out our economic security and was a stress on both of our healths.  FEMA, which took over the insurance, was as grossly unhelpful to us as they were later in New Orleans and on the East Coast after Sandy.  We were already wanderers without a permanent home when 9/11 struck New York.  But we finally found a place to settle down, again having to come back to Los Alamos because of economic reasons.  Maybe in the end I am better off here, now that Irv has gone to Heaven, but it nevertheless was 12 years of increased struggle.  I would surely like it if 12 means an end to this.  I am now resigned to holding on indefinitely--whether He comes now or later, or takes me home before the Rapture.  But I still would like it, for all of us, if He would come at the end of these 12 years of in the wilderness for us.

The school shooting in Connecticut is just one more notch on the belt of the Devil, which shows us that this is NOT home.  I have grandchildren 10 and 7, the 7 year old being just a year older than the children killed in Connecticut.  Let's go, please Lord Jesus.

But if we have to stay for a while, strengthen us.

Mariel Rowina