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Dear February, I do so love you in all your heart-sprinkley goodness.  Dear Madeline, all of your song-leading practice is paying off.  I’ll never forget you standing on the piano bench, singing at the top of your lungs about the “higher plane above my feet” (to the tune of Higher Ground).  Nice one.  Dear husband, I’m real sorry about your hair.  For real.  Dear Susannah, way to go on making me realize that I need to do better about schooling you in spiritual matters.  Because the three persons of God aren’t God the Father, God the Son, and Abraham.  It was a good try, though.