blessed

let it not be thought that from the damage done in youth rises the irreversible melancholy of despair for the Lord is my rock and my salvation blessed is he who comes and many are the angels who encamp around the innocent who live on and beyond the hard, always toward the goal of peace

small

Strongholds are hard, risk required to break the generations of shame declaring the healing worse than the barbed wire chains of pride encircling the light-bearers like hawks searching for the small, burrow-ers making their way among the vines and weeds towards truth.

dear writer…

…what scares you most? I know them well, the voices in the mind which begin to whisper, rant, and rave about your inability and the impossibility and all the vain effort you throw at the page white and raw gleaming at you like an evil eye, daring you, try it, laughing at you, a blankContinue reading “dear writer…”

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