- I invite Him into the budget. The words sound silly to my ear but solemn to my heart. Either I believe He is my provision, my resource, my furnishing, or I don’t.
- Feelin real attacked by Pinterest rn.
- Deep, insistent thunder greets the morning. I close my eyes and let it pass through my soul. Maybe it will shake something loose.
- Four hours later, we each feel like we haven’t done enough for the other, but we also know that’s the enemy talking. We hug and agree to do it again soon.
- Groceries can wait another day.
- I’m damn near impossible to shock in conversation. Everyone has a story. I want to listen with love.
- Yet I struggle to do that very thing with my own body. It protests the “food” I’ve been eating, creaking and moaning in sluggish, sugary sorrow. The voices are beginning to notice.
- I open the back door as the sky turns electric green and watch tender young branches whip furiously in the thundering wind. Listen for the train.
- Orangsicles aren’t as good as I remember.
- If I hurry, I’ll get eight hours. Maybe I’ll even shower in the morning.
Of Pinterest shame, thunder all day long, and not feeling able to stop eating garbage “food”.