When our souls have reached the night season and it feels we are strumming our pain with uncertainty, this level of opposition it sits at top of our souls while the tides are so rapid and waves are all consuming,
but God this is where we meet Jesus, this is where we draw the line from fear
to speak in faith
we draw the line in the night season , for the power of life and death still lies in our own tongues – so we speak life to every dark cloud, we speak life, through the valley of shadow of death ,
in despair and in the dry places, we speak life
so let the weak say I am strong, let the poor say I am rich,
let health enter our bodies as good medicine,
O Lord, keep your hand upon us and let no evil befall your people, enlarge our territory and bless us indeed
Thought I’d slink back into the 3rd grade without a hitch of having to look over my shoulder at Christopher Jones. Or Kwanna Brown. You see I’m not your typical wanna-be, 3rd grader with all her ducks in a row. Art is was my thing and still is my thing. Accept I can’t draw or paint or doddle. That didn’t matter much, seeing I’m an artist, with all the heart and soul of an artist. All the making of what an artist should be.
Drafted somewhere in the pain of 3rd grade staring me down on the blue and white lines. Blobs and blobs of something and a prick of blood in the middle where I’d once stuck myself with left handed scissors. My pop-up monster didn’t glow. Or have fangs or six strange eyes. Maybe it was stupid, maybe it was human or maybe it was me.
I had it etched in my brain that art was supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be mysterious on the journey of the greater, unimaginable that God like thing. Maybe becoming apart of the big blue sky, of the dreary clouds so heavy, on the pulse of rage and pollution. Drooping with the possibilities of footsteps.
The kind droplets that etch in deep in the brain,
sounds of God laughing, walking on water. Stepping out of heaven for a quick moment to lift up a little girl or a dying world, to feel wanted like art and accepted like something God made while laughing. ~kindness sister Krissy
A lowly student in the school for sinners - worshipping like an Anglican & praising like a Pentecostal! "For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us & on the whole world" (Chaplet of Divine Mercy). "Pray, hope, and don't worry" (Padre Pio).
Writing can be anything for anyone but for me it's to express the overwhelming feelings I feel that cannot be said .[Disclaimer : everything posted here will be my own work (p.s. work here means everything written and not the images) unless mentioned otherwise. Please do not copy.]