God is Here
I begin again writing my way through the muck of shame under the gray of sadness. They say, whoever they are, that anger is fear turned inside out. If so, then shame must be hatred turned inward.
Flipping through the catalog of faces of my memory, I bookmark the angels God gifted me.
Against the darkness, angels appearing so I could see God’s face and speaking words plainly that I could hear His voice. Angels who lifted the chainmaille of despair from me so I could feel God’s radiating peace.
Angels, who each have a name, I call out knowing God is here.
I take up my pen again writing my way through it.
Each whisper of kindness to myself reflects in the faces of angels bookmarked in my memory. How could I be ungrateful as I remember the faces of those who chose the work of God watering this soul helping me to thrive?
I write the word over, and over, and over saying it out loud.
faces of angels
in the mist
listing each one’s name
reveal my purpose
God is here
May I pray for you?
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