Grandma’s hands were loved more than she could ever understand.
Grandma’s Hands
The Prodigal Son
I was building from a state of brokenness—serving my community while walking over the shattered pieces of my existence.
family
Grandma’s hands were loved more than she could ever understand.
I was building from a state of brokenness—serving my community while walking over the shattered pieces of my existence.
BABL 