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.
Word of God in the mouth of the prophet. Sweet to the taste. Like honey.
So says Ezekiel. David. And the apostle John.
Word of God, eaten. By Jeremiah.
The words He gives sometimes hit strong with judgment. Jarring.
But even there, sustaining. Healing.
In a world that groans to be made right again.