Yesterday I felt like my writting had hit a snag, okay, okay a slump. What- ever this is, I know can write my way out. God always makes a way out. Now that ‘s not to say, there isn’t spilled milk or crying, going-on over here. I’ve done plenty. As the old saying goes, no need crying over spilled milk. I guess the writer forgot to add, when there is spillage and honey there will be spillage.

Nobody knows how far the spill spreads, a little here, a little there. Feels like I’m swimming around in it. One small drip into a thousand more, cascades off the light pink-brown table down onto the brown rustic wooden legs seeping into kitchen cracks. I’m running around looking for a clean dish rag. Why? I don’t know why?

I know this makes no sense but that’s just the way life is. There’s the car that won’t start so I walk my kids to the school bus, only to find the milk still leaking. My neighbor stops me to tell me, that the doctors have found a small tumor in her throat. Milk still leaking.

I just need God to come through, for my neighbor, my mom and everyone else around me, even those reading this right now.

As I’m cleaning and praying.

I couldn’t use my kitchen towels because my seven-year old’s glue stick project was fully occupied with slimy goo. Pasted in red letters, Happy Valentine’s mushed in-between.

I thought of the next best thing. Hey no judgment! These things happen, when the milk is being poured.

I found some old shirts, thick enough to absorb a gallon of -precious jewels like this.

There’s nothing reuse-able about God’s holy spirit

God I know you can hear it, the cry of your people

undeniable pounding

pouring out,
sounding like rain

heal us again

try us O’ God , somethings gotta give

if we can’t change the course

change the course of our heart

kindness sis, Krissy