It’s the kind of fortitude and okayness that come only from soaking up the outpouring from a ripped open heart.
Love is a mess of romance and compassion. Compassion can remain.
Therapeutic tunnels promising greener grass succeed when they dump us back on the brown patch where we began.
Wishing we have “ears to hear” above the din of judgmental self-talk
YHWH and Yeshua choose US! With NO conditions.
Fall on your knees, as you would to revere a king? Or in exhaustion, like a “weary world rejoicing”?