This road is hard.
We, the people, meant for Grace for all time.
Thrown through the ravages of sin and justified and sanctified by the blood.
We, the people, destined for all that is holy, yet muck through the waters until He returns.
The step of some days harder than others.
Weeping and flailing as if there were no anchor.
The whole time being held.
We, the people.
Each so different.
Each so needy.
Each so loved.
The sun beats down.
The warmth fills the cold spaces.
It is a choice to breathe in and out and feel.
This day is hard.
The abrasive rubs in my soul.
The acrid taste of spewing words.
We, the people.
Who have been bought for a price.
Yet forgetting what lies ahead.
Who goes before us.
Who stands beside.
My heart lurches at memories.
They haunt my every waking move.
I long for the day they will bring the smiles. Instead of torment.
I pass by his room and a faint familiar smell permeates the air.
How can it be?
It jogs a memory of long ago in my parents basement when hefty decisions were on my soul.
In the depths of prayer and deep thought a waft of sweetness floated by.
Peaceful and serene.
A calm oh, so sure, settled in to stay.
A calm oh, so sure, settled in to stay.
No origins of the scent.
And now the same.
A reminder from the spirit that He is always there.
Even in the dark, when the ache is deep.
He is there.
We, the people.
His people.
His people.
Isaiah 40:31
but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.
Hi Tammy! I live on Old Pump Road, and I would like to start getting my milk from you! Email me at [email protected] to let me know how! WOuld love to get some this weekend.to get some this weekend. Thanks!