We are fragile like the flowers, our hours sown with grief. Is it life—or a thief—that makes us and takes us, petal by petal to the wind? Ever closer to the end of all that ever almost was. We fade because of our inheritance— our parents left us death, and every breath, cut off from … Continue reading Life through Death
The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord and so is mine. It turns like rivers upon a word of His design. Though channeled dam-ward from the start, I will not fear. He can turn the trickle of my heart anywhere— but only if He wants. .