Our prayers from the depths of despair are often not pretty. They are more like wails, moans, or screams, more sound and noise than meaning and manners, often denouncing or disrespecting the very God we cry out to.
A fledgling is made for sky / Like a soul is winged for Heaven / Trapped in this cold house at night / It flings till wings are broken
It was almost uncomfortable--this joy. I almost didn't want to feel it--foreign as it was. But then I walked out into the autumn rain, and let it fall, over me, on me, in me.
I live in downtown Truro, and every night, sirens echo and frenetic lights blaze through the dark.
Something to chew on: squirrels seem nutty, frantically scampering about--but really they are storing up winter reserves only they know of.
If I were to paint what my eyes rest on today, would it truly be a still life?
Open the door / Look inside / Is it comfortable / for You?
For these old four walls that house my loves / Oh, the warm mercy of the LORD
Panic / Who wouldn’t / When the room reels / Lopsided / And the floor opens a black hole /
Under feet /
The adventure of a lifetime has been calling my name. But to take the first step can often be the hardest for us. Do I trust God again, that he actually is Who I always wanted and needed?
Habits of a Transforming Heart: Sabbath
“Why is there never enough?” I sigh.
Spent. This word I use to describe my emotions and energy today is quite telling. I’ve overdrawn, and it’s all gone.