TWO WAYS TO DIE.

 The warrior stood before His death sentence.

In His left hand, He held the cross, the object of misery.

IN the other hand, He held the power to execute His executioner.

The pain of the whip that cut deep into His skin burned like coals of fire on His back, and still He banked the fire of the authority within Him.

He watched the warriors He trained laugh at His wounds, and scorn His reality, and yet He banked the fire within Him.

He let the death sentence become His reality, because He looked far into the future, and saw a little girl, one of many, crying herself to sleep.

He saw her uncle, a spurn of evil, take pleasure from a body still discovering growth.

He saw her look at the ceiling fan and the rope she stole from her dog's neck.

He saw her climb onto the top bunk, and He wanted to offer her another way to die.

He wanted her to know arms that can heal her deep scars.

Arms that knew how to exchange her past for a brand new, perfect one.

So He took the insults, and collected what He needed so He can rescue you.

Jesus loves you.

Open wounds

 Is it my story, or a reality?

Did I walk into the hospital and have the nurses cut my wounds open, and leave me bleeding?

The canvas that holds my image projects my smile as Mona Lisa's. Undaunted, Joyful and painless. Forever stuck in time.

In reality, when your lens lean a lot closer, you may see the wrinkles by the side of my lips. Wrinkles created to keep wails at bay.

Look closely and you will see the strain on my face, my eyes smarting from not blinking, my ears turning red, and the drizzle of sweat on my shirt.

What is true, and what is not?

What is pure, and what is dirt?

When will pain end its endless torment?

When will hurt sting less?

Where is Friend, to soothe my tears?

As I wondered on a hot May day, I saw a Man, He stopped my Misery's stride and put my pride on an endless strike.

He has tremendous power, and lifted the burden off my shoulders with an effortless wink.

He taught me lessons on love in seconds, His arms told stories of peace and joy.

Rapha, is one of the names He is called.

He is the reason pain is a faded reality.

He is The author of my breath.

He is The King of my heart.

He can be yours, too.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

 A start is the beginning.

The beginning is the start.

From the fade, there is clarity

Last is the year past

Now is the year here

God has been faithful through the storm and sun 

The light has become the sight

A start is the beginning

The beginning is now.

Happy new Year.