Broken record pleading. Same old insecurity. Inadequacy.
Pride.
Doing a number on my thinking.
Fiery-dart target practice, feels like, somedays.
Age-old questions on repeat.
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Broken record pleading. Same old insecurity. Inadequacy.
Pride.
Doing a number on my thinking.
Fiery-dart target practice, feels like, somedays.
Age-old questions on repeat.
Death is the deep shadow.
Chasm of uninvited separation. Abrupt change. And tangible loss.
I miss Mom’s voice. Her hugs. Her laugh. And her interest in every little detail. Her focus on what is true and good. Her enthusiasm for learning and growing. Her love for God, His Word. And her example in faithful prayer.
This week would have been her 93rd birthday on earth.
Winter grey. And snow remains. On the edges. In corners.
Hidden from the sun. By shelter and shadow.
Held captive by cold. Temperatures never rising quite far enough.
Winter’s fringes remain visible today. From where I sit. Looking through glass.