Tomorrow's Dream by Janette Oke, Davis Bunn

change the hands of time or make it all better. If I could, I would.”
    She did not seem to have heard him. “I want my baby. Not another one. Never another one.” Then her pacing began to slow. Her face started to lose its tautness, as though internal strings were loosening.
    She stopped in the middle of the room and whispered to the emptiness surrounding her, “I’ll never go through this pain again. I can’t.”
    â€œI know,” he said, stepping forward, reaching out, drawing her near. Feeling her respond and soften and fold onto his chest for the first time in months. Hearing her softly sob. For a moment at least her isolation had been breached.
    Kenneth raised his hand and softly stroked her hair. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, full of gratitude that for now, for this tiny instant, his wife was back again. He loved her, this woman-child whose heart seemed too fragile for the burden she was being forced to bear.
    But even as he held her, he knew the journey back was far from over yet.

14 
    Joel awoke feeling better than he had in weeks, well enough to brave the chill dawn air and help with what had come to be known at the center as the morning patrol. It was a good time to search out new faces, while the young wanderers were still huddled under blankets or sleeping inside the limping vehicles which had brought them to the city.
    The area of Washington known as Adams Morgan was a place in transition. On the fringe of Washington life, it was full of little artsy coffeehouses and run-down warehouses and corners of immigrant population. In recent times it was also being flooded by young people.
    At the front entrance to a derelict tenement, Joel noticed a shadow that didn’t quite fit with the other street shadows. Approaching the area, he realized he was looking at two bodies huddled together under a tattered overcoat. Joel cleared his throat, and one of the heads emerged, then the other. A boy and a girl, probably thirteen and fifteen and maybe brother and sister, though they were so dirty it was hard to tell, stared back at him. One of the things that worried him so about these new street kids was how they seemed to be getting younger all the time.
    â€œGood morning,” he said, keeping his tone carefully matter-of-fact. He could see from their gazes that smiles would not be trusted. Not from a stranger. “My name is Joel. I’m from the Morning Glory Center. It’s a place where you can come for a meal, a shower, or a bed if you want it. Have you eaten recently? How about some hot soup?”
    Joel caught the tiniest flicker of interest from the hollow eyes. He went on to tell them that the Center had a doctor, they could stay as long or as short as they wished, and they could make a free call home.
    â€œOr I can do it for you,” he explained, knowing the litany of information was less important than assuring them of his genuine care. “You can listen in while I let your folks know you’re okay. I won’t tell them where you are unless you want me to.”
    The introduction to the Center was by now so familiar that Joel could keep his mind fastened upon his heart and the prayers he was forming. He offered his hand. “Would you like to come in and get warm?”
    Joel led the pair back through the narrow street in silence. He knew it would take time and prayer and patience before they would be ready to hear anything else he had to say.
    When the mission came into view, he heard a little gasp from the girl and it made him smile. The ancient brick facade was whitewashed, then decorated with sunny flowers. They stretched up two stories, blooming in giant profusion the entire length of the block. In the feeble light of a cold January morning, the effect was stunning.
    Over the entrance, the words “Morning Glory” had been painted in bright gold letters four feet high. Higher still a sun resembling a four-pointed cross beamed