For voice, hope, strength
every poet weighed with
the power of the truth –
our very existence the resistance
That simple, yet dangerous, prayer led me to begin again. God soon filled my heart with a new vision: to become a professor and to use the professorial platform to speak and write about issues of race and Christianity.
It’s #FiveMinuteFriday at Kate Motaung’s place. The word prompt is MORE. I’m not a prose kind of person at 4:00 a.m.
What a gorgeous book of connection with our dreams, and our knitting together of reality. I love how this book knit together a story of dreams and overcoming unknowns.
Just like this hillside, my soul has been scorched by fiery trials. For many years, I waded through the thick black smoke as my soul was left desolate, dry, and gasping for air. All signs of life were stripped away, leaving only a remnant of skeletal remains. I felt forsaken and forgotten. It was hard to imagine my soul flourishing again.
I heard God whispering to my heart when I read that story. You like to bake…what is his favorite dessert? I remembered how much he liked cheesecake. Working up my nerve, I invited him over for supper on a Sunday night. He agreed, and I prepared our home, a special meal, and my heart for his arrival.
In due time, I stepped back into my childhood church and that very day was introduced to a man that would go on to be my surrogate father and officiate over my wedding. This man would connect the dots from my heart to God’s and remind me that my ransom was paid in blood so greatly was I loved. I would come to understand that my value wasn’t tied to a scale and more importantly that there was a place for me in the Kingdom.
Husband and I lay, backs on the bed staring at the ceiling, no kids at home. Finally, time alone. How would we spend this time? Would it be as all the times before? Pretending we weren’t hurt? Hovering surface level?
Friends, I’m over at Alice Williams’s place with an Ode To The Broken Hearted. Come by.