Two years ago, I was sitting in a hospital room. In fact, I'd been sitting in a hospital room for six weeks.
I was scared, and sick of my four walls and window (even though we'd brought pretty much an entire house's worth of stuff to make it homey and entertain me), sick of the giant flag flying over the La Quinta that was my only view, being diagnosed seemingly every day with some new multiple-pregnancy complication, and just praying we could all hold out a little longer.
The first day I'd been admitted, my mom and sister made me a "Twin Playlist" on my phone, and they'd been adding to it throughout the six weeks. I listened to it constantly on repeat, and the song that kept repeating in my head at night, when I was supposed to be trying to sleep, was always "Stronger."
So when we started singing it in the service, I was in two places: two times. I was then, there, scared to hope and so hopeful, and I was here, now, with my two hoped-for, prayed-for, nearly-2-year-old munchkins getting up to every kind of shenanigans and making every moment an adventure.