Thursday, March 31, 2011


Oh Ann of my heart, Ann Voskamp, who I reference in this month's church newsletter, still talking about "One Thousand Gifts"... Oh Ann who writes such prolific and heart-clenching blog entries over at A Holy Experience...Ann who is one of my cyber-mentors of how to love God and how to praise God and how to be undeniably human and frail to the point of questioning everything, but still coming back to...God.

She is teaching me about Lent.

I had a problem when Lent started. Don't get me wrong, I loved the Ash Wednesday service with its solemnity and quiet beauty. But to my newly-Christian mind, Lent was all about the giving up of something and I am a creature of things, of food, of luxuries (cheap, mind you). I like most of my ways and tighten around them when all around me feels unstable. Right now, I'm clinging to everything I hold dear because dark times visit. So why do I want to give up something?

But I now realize that Lent is about so much more. It's about recognizing Jesus' sacrifice and honoring that sacrifice. Read some quotes that Ann used on her blog (requoted without permission, but with it were she to know, I hope):

"Self-denial means knowing only Christ and no longer oneself.

It means seeing only Christ, who goes ahead of us, and no longer the path that is too difficult for us.

Again, self-denial is saying only: He goes ahead of us; hold fast to him."

~by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

And then Ann follows up with the incredible realization:

"The realest fast is to hold fast to Christ."

Oh Christ, I have held fast to You these last few days as my best friend, having moved to Texas, asserts that she cannot commit as much time or effort toward our friendship. As I feel alone and abandoned, I have turned to You, Lord, and found the One who I can always turn to, no matter what. I've never known a friendship such as that.

There is no earthly friendship such as that.

Oh Christ, Husband and I have turned to you as depression has hit, as our child custody has lessened, as our hearts have broken. We do not ask why so much now, but "thy will be done."

I am still ambivalent (look - that has the word 'lent' in it) about the giving up of something...

but I see that I have gained so much these past two to three weeks: a better understanding of my relationship with God.

And isn't that what our journey is all about?

Deepest blessings upon you.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

The Sting of This World

I thought I had done it.

but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect

~Peter 3:15

I had been afraid to do it for months, ever since the beginning of my faith walk, and I thought I had done it: defended my faith.

Someone challenged me and, unfortunately, not in a very civil manner. I was called brainwashed and self-righteous.

Why would someone who does not believe in God go to a God-centered blog and read it, poke at it?

Why would a Christian go to an Agnostic or Atheist's blog and do the same thing?

Why do some people think all Christians are hateful people?

Why do some people think that all non-Christians are hateful people?

I'm coming from a place of love. That is the Home in which I live. Words cannot describe this place of love; I try every day to formulate the "right" words to express my love for what I live, what I believe, what I love.


I've read countless Christian blogs that say everything with grace and ease. They are not challenged. Not that I know of.

Am I not a wordsmith? Do my thoughts confuse?


Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses
~ 1Timothy 6:12

This isn't about the person who challenged me; it is about the fact that I was challenged. I had never been challenged before and perhaps I was walking about naively. Perhaps God wanted me to learn, soak, absorb His ways before He put my first test before me.

I am not used to debate. In fact, I despise it and actively try to hide from it. My father blasted me wrong...stupid...selfish as a child. I never wanted to open my mouth again. But as a Christian, one is called upon to defend his or her faith.

I am glad that this person challenged me. It made me take a closer look at the words I choose and it also made me even more convinced that I do come from a place of tolerance and love.

Oh, why strife in this world? Why intolerance and hate? Why accusations?

I say this not from one side; I say this in the most general of terms.

Can't we learn to fix each others' hurts? Maybe not, but I wish we could.

May your boo-boo not sting so much this day.

Bless you.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Gimme a Hallelujah!

Over at "Getting Down with Jesus" - blog by Jennifer Dukes Lee, she asked, "how can God not love us?"

She gives hallelujah reasons for it. Reasons that make me want to jump up and say, "Amen!" - and I haven't ever done that in real life. Of course God loves us! It is unconditional. A love that people who aren't Christian...just don't know. And that makes me sad. (*see end note)

So I thought about Jennifer's hallelujah blog post. I wanted to write something, myself, that could make someone jump up and shout an "Amen!"

I should be so lucky. I'm just beginning to learn and think about God.

But what I would like to do is write the converse of what Jennifer wrote.

She wrote: Of course God loves us.

I write now: Of course we love God.

Ah, do you see any holes in that?

I do. Our love is the love from a human.

His love is the love from God. And God is not human. God is... God. Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Holy parent. Rescuer. Redeemer. Comforter. So many names.

And aren't all humans...flawed? So is our love flawed?

I say: yes. The way we love God and the way God loves us is not the same.

But that's okay, isn't it? God knows we are human, fallible beings. God knows our inner workings better than we do. He understands our confusion. God untangles our messes. His love is unconditional.

Our love is conditional, isn't it. I know I didn't always love God. I don't think on my bad days I love God very well. I wouldn't say I'm angry at Him, but - for instance, when partial custody of the kids was taken away from us, I was very confused and not understanding God's plan. For a moment, I thought He didn't know what He was doing. Maybe He was making a mistake.

But, no. God does not make mistakes. He loves. He gives. He delivers.

All we must do is open our arms and take in the ever-expanding love. A love that we, as humans, can barely even comprehend. Jennifer does a good job at explaining it on her blog, but still... it is a love so holy and so tender that we humans can barely catch wind of it.

Can you feel it? Or is it hard?

Of course we must love God. We must praise Him. We must live for Him and glorify Him. That is what the Bible teaches us. I've heard from various preachers and experts that our priority must be the Lord. Then our spouse, then our children.

Do you live as if God comes first? I found that a hard concept to grasp and an even harder practice to keep. God above my writing? God above my work? My children and, especially, my husband?

My husband who I hold and touch and look at?

God, who is in the ethers and untouchable, is more important than these things I can touch?

Well, yes.

Let us all love God and try to reach that holy hallelujah place of loving so purely that we outdo ourselves. That we surprise even God! Let us trust in God so much that we walk through our lives without fear. Without trepidation.

We can't do that with people. People are bound to hurt us, even the ones we love the most. The more we love, the more we can get hurt, right?

To an extent...

God will not hurt us.

We might think God is hurting us by not "answering a prayer" or by not "coming through," but God knows all things and has our best intentions in mind. He takes care of us.

So let us walk with Him and love Him unfailingly, unflinchingly, unabashedly.

Can I have a hallelujah? Can I have an Amen?


* a friend pointed out the error of this statement that I made. I admit, I wrote this post out fast and without much thought. I stand by everything I said except this statement which makes it sound like I don't think people who choose not to believe in God or the like aren't loved by God. I DO believe God loves everyone, whether or not they want that love or not. What I was speaking of was a special relationship that Christ-followers have with God. It is a love unlike anything I've ever known. It does not make us any better or different. It's a love I can't imagine living without. What made me sad was that some people would never know this relationship. I was NOT condemning any belief or dis-belief. I hope you give me the grace to say I am sorry if I offended. I am still learning how to speak about my faith.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Lament to God

I am failing, Lord. I need you. I am crying out in spirit and in voice every day and every night. My medicine has instilled such biochemical anger in me, Lord, and it brings up every anger I have ever felt. Our lives have been disrupted, Lord. The courts reared their ugly, injustice-filled head and took half/half custody of the kids away from us. We are now weekend parents. Lord, I wanted to be so much more to my kids than that. I want to impact them, Lord. I want to love them and not put them in harm's way, which is what is going to happen, Lord.

But all this is Your will, Lord. Husband and I prayed about the custody outcome and promised to accept whatever Your will was and this is it. We accept it. But it is hard, Lord. It tears at our guts. In the Bible, there is a lot of teeth-gnashing. We are gnashing everything, Lord. As hard as the rain now falls on the skylights of my living room, our souls scream out to the beat of the injustice.

I seek You, Lord. I am David crying out to you. And yet I do not open the Psalms. The evil force has me at times, Lord. My heightened anger simmers through my body and gives boils and warts and every emotional scar possible.

I listen to my favorite songs on Life 102.5, Lord, Your divine music - or at least the music that You have inspired these artists to write and perform - and the words do not touch me as much. Or at least in a positive way. All I hear is the yearning, oh the yearning.

I haven't loved You for that long, Lord. Not in a way that I understood. I still yearn for something from You. I half-expect some arm to reach down from the clouds and pick me up to hold my fragile, gnawed form. Please do that, Lord.

But I know that You are not that self-gratifying. I want instant gratification right now and You wish for me to have faith. And faith is not about instant gratification. Faith is knowing there is some reason the ex-wife got more time with the kids, some reason why my emotional life is one big thunderstorm. There is always that need to stretch your faith to have faith.

Yes, it takes faith to have faith.

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."
Romans 11:1

Lord, let me be the bleeding woman. Let me, too, be healed.

1 So they arrived at the other side of the lake, in the land of the Gerasenes.

2 Just as Jesus was climbing from the boat, a man possessed by an evil spirit ran out from a cemetery to meet him.

3 This man lived among the tombs and could not be restrained, even with a chain.

4 Whenever he was put into chains and shackles--as he often was--he snapped the chains from his wrists and smashed the shackles. No one was strong enough to control him.

5 All day long and throughout the night, he would wander among the tombs and in the hills, screaming and hitting himself with stones.

6 When Jesus was still some distance away, the man saw him. He ran to meet Jesus and fell down before him.

7 He gave a terrible scream, shrieking, "Why are you bothering me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? For God's sake, don't torture me!"

8 For Jesus had already said to the spirit, "Come out of the man, you evil spirit."

9 Then Jesus asked, "What is your name?" And the spirit replied, "Legion, because there are many of us here inside this man."

10 Then the spirits begged him again and again not to send them to some distant place.

11 There happened to be a large herd of pigs feeding on the hillside nearby.

12 "Send us into those pigs," the evil spirits begged.

13 Jesus gave them permission. So the evil spirits came out of the man and entered the pigs, and the entire herd of two thousand pigs plunged down the steep hillside into the lake, where they drowned.

14 The herdsmen fled to the nearby city and the surrounding countryside, spreading the news as they ran. Everyone rushed out to see for themselves.

15 A crowd soon gathered around Jesus, but they were frightened when they saw the man who had been demon possessed, for he was sitting there fully clothed and perfectly sane.

16 Those who had seen what happened to the man and to the pigs told everyone about it,

17 and the crowd began pleading with Jesus to go away and leave them alone.

18 When Jesus got back into the boat, the man who had been demon possessed begged to go, too.

19 But Jesus said, "No, go home to your friends, and tell them what wonderful things the Lord has done for you and how merciful he has been."

20 So the man started off to visit the Ten Towns* of that region and began to tell everyone about the great things Jesus had done for him; and everyone was amazed at what he told them.2

21 When Jesus went back across to the other side of the lake, a large crowd gathered around him on the shore.

22 A leader of the local synagogue, whose name was Jairus, came and fell down before him,

23 pleading with him to heal his little daughter. "She is about to die," he said in desperation. "Please come and place your hands on her; heal her so she can live."

24 Jesus went with him, and the crowd thronged behind.

25 And there was a woman in the crowd who had had a hemorrhage for twelve years.

26 She had suffered a great deal from many doctors through the years and had spent everything she had to pay them, but she had gotten no better. In fact, she was worse.

27 She had heard about Jesus, so she came up behind him through the crowd and touched the fringe of his robe.

28 For she thought to herself, "If I can just touch his clothing, I will be healed."

29 Immediately the bleeding stopped, and she could feel that she had been healed!

30 Jesus realized at once that healing power had gone out from him, so he turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?"

31 His disciples said to him, "All this crowd is pressing around you. How can you ask, `Who touched me?' "

32 But he kept on looking around to see who had done it.

33 Then the frightened woman, trembling at the realization of what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and told him what she had done.

34 And he said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well. Go in peace. You have been healed."

Mark 5:1-34

I, too, am afraid to come too close. I have suffered for so long, for thirty-something years, Lord. Do I dare come close? All this time, have I been too afraid? Have I really come to you at my lowest, repented, and sought You out?

Yes, I did last night. You know the details, Lord; I was at my worst, my ugliest, and out of exhausted tears, I whispered, "help me."

I will follow You through dark disaster And sing hallelujah through the pain
"All My Praise," by Selah

All I did after that was sleep, and although today I am not bright and cheery, I no longer feel the evil within me and for that I am grateful.

Lord, I wish to know You more. I wish to be worthy of You. I wish to love and be loved.

Lord, heal this wounded spirit.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

God as the New Norm

1978 Mom holding me as a baby

I wanted to write an inspirational post about God and simplicity and complexity of this journey I am on. The imperfect truth is that I feel off my path today, especially tonight.

I'm home alone (Husband is working an extra shift) and I watched a documentary on depression which I shouldn't have.

It reminded me of my struggles, but, moreso, it reminded me of my mother, how much of an advocate she was, and how much I dearly, dearly miss her.

I feel the ache so much I feel I might implode.

In my pain, I hear the whisper

O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent.
Psalm 22:2

I whisper that and don't even know God comes into this pain of mine. I have felt this grief over my mother since 2006 and I have felt it without the knowledge of God's presence. I am used to feeling alone. Dealing with it alone. Living it alone.

Out of nowhere, I now hear

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted
Matthew 5:4

I look around. The tears stop. A warmth settles over me like when I drink warm liquid and can feel the warmth literally move down my throat and spread out over my body.

Oh yes, I think. That's right. I am a Christian now. I have God now. How could I have forgotten?

I rest my head against the back of the chair and look up at the ceiling. It feels different, this companionship.

Just a little while before, I was crying out in pain and anguish and grief. I was in mourning.

I was a mourning dove.

I have to remind myself that it's different now. Those 26 and a half years I lived in depression without the Lord (well, without me knowing Him) are over and now, 4 months ago, I found a new way to live, survive, even thrive.

God's in the mix now. That's how things are different.

I await the day when God becomes my new norm.

Bless you.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

God and Me: a History

Here is a poetic statement of faith regarding my childhood religious instruction. It is copyright 2011 and will appear in my book, "The Sum of Our Burning" coming out next year - a poetry book about my mother's death and my subsequent healing process.
The picture: my mom and me (on left)
The poem:



Mom and I both had first communion

at the same time. I was a pre-teen,

she in her late 30’s.

We felt so-so about Jesus,

But we wanted community so desperately,

wanting sanctuary, to get out of

our lonely house.

Somehow the old church ladies

could save our souls

with their pies and casseroles.

Never mind God, who didn’t

figure much into it at first.

Mom wanted kids for me

to play with, she wanted

substitute mothers for herself

and so I went to youth group

on Wednesdays

and she idolized Pastor Jim who

came over on Saturday nights

to give Mom bible lessons – for she

did yearn to believe and understand.

What she didn’t know was that

I came to hate Wednesdays

when the other kids would run

after me, spitting out staccato-d

words, mimicking my stutter.

And in Bible Study, how slack-jawed

they were when I didn’t know

what came after Genesis

or how the world truly began.

I was the pariah while Mom

searched for her spirit in a

pretend-lover who was off-limits,

her love for him purely appreciative.

Somehow it all ended the way

a movie suddenly ends when you

rise out of sleep.

Wednesdays returned to

watching the Cosby Show

and eating Salisbury steak TV dinners.

Mom, too, forgot about her desire

for community, settling back into

the pair of us out to

survive in the world with

just each other for company.


That about sums it up and yet there's so much more.

I always said my first religion was The Care Bears because I distinctly remember being young - around five or six - and loving them. I would look up at the clouds and know they were just beyond, watching over me. They were my version of God. They were the God I now know I have in my life. When life got rough (and it did in my five short years of life thus far) I prayed to the Care Bears - Tenderheart Bear, Love-a-Lot Bear, Sunshine Bear, even Grumpy Bear - to help me feel better. Oh, I was such a sad little girl. Their colorful optimism got me through a lot.

As I stated in the poem, around the age of ten or eleven (maybe younger), Mom and I began attending St. James Lutheran Church down the block from us. At first it was great. I remember going to Vacation Bible School and making a wooden house and painting it: "God Bless This House." Mom kept that until the wood started to splinter, many years down the line. I made some friends, which weren't mentioned in the poem (poetic license and all). I absolutely loved Pastor Jim. He was young and accessible to people of all ages. He got down on the kids' level and yet he was a hit with the older folk.

I remember, however, being absolutely bored with sermons. I don't think anyone could have impressed me at that age, no matter how good the speaker. I sat in the pew with my mother and sometimes her boyfriend and I just cringed when he (her boyfriend and my future stepfather) sang, embarrassed at his inability to carry a tune. I didn't like the repetition of church: all those passages, creeds, and such that people memorized.

Good memories: playing flute up in the choir loft for services.
Being in the bell choir. So pretty.
Easter: the lilies, the stalks, the lacy, white dresses.

And then I remember communion. I absolutely hated the idea of drinking wine. I had no idea what communion was about at that age, I only knew that I did not want to get drunk and act silly like my mom and her boyfriend did. I hated the act of standing up in church and going to the front for communion - it was the act of peeling out of the masses and calling attention to ourselves. Of course, no one looked at us specifically, but in my head I thought they did. I cannot say how much I detested communion.

To my absolute delight, I now love taking part in communion at my present church. Pastor is going to start an adult ed class about what communion really means and I look forward to that. As for now, I know it means being forgiven and communing with Christ. I don't fear the wine (it's actually quite sweet and nice) and the wafer isn't as horrible as I remember. The most important thing, though, is that I am understanding the meaning of which I knew nothing of back then. Thank God that He forgives those who don't know any better.

Bad memories: Bible class. Oh my goodness, I entered Bible class in the middle and everyone else seemed to know all the answers. I knew nothing. And I mean nothing. I came in there a blank slate and whatever they (teacher and children) threw at me was what was going to stick. Unfortunately, I got made fun of for my stuttering and lack of knowledge. I made quite a few enemies. Therefore, my religion studies were full of strife. That makes me sad to know now.

The ending: Pastor Jim eventually left and a new pastor came in his place. I forgot his name because as soon as he started preaching about the devil, Mom thought it her duty to take me out of that church - besides, I was miserable at youth group on Wednesday nights. I cried about it and dreaded it every week. She, too, was becoming disillusioned with the adults at church who seemed petty, catty, and gossipy. This wasn't the community she wanted to raise her daughter in. And so that was it.

The poem makes it sound like the beginning and the end of St. James all happened within a few weeks or months of each other. In reality, we were a part of the church for a few years. But, like I said, after it was over, it was really over. Mom seldom talked about God or Christianity to me.

I read blogs like Getting Down With Jesus and A Holy Experience and Breathe Deeply and all three are mothers who are fabulous (in my opinion; I'm sure each of them will say they have their challenging days) at educating their children about God and the Christian life. They not only educate, but they live by their faith. I so wish Mom could have done that.

In a way, she did. Her bible was Simple Abundance by Sarah Ban Breathnach. That book was all about gratitude and simple living. As I remember Mom reading through it and begging me, her teenage daughter, to read through it, I recall similar teachings between that book and Christianity. So perhaps Mom taught me her own shade of things.

I learned gratitude from my mother. I knew she believed in God, though she didn't talk about it much. She talked more about a loving force, a loving world that I could take part in. She taught me, most of all, the Golden Rule: do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

So after St. James, no more church until I went to high school and attended my best friend, Anne's Lutheran church for holidays. Today, that blessed woman is a Pastor up in Northern Wisconsin and she is one of my most inspirational friends. Back in high school, I think one of the reasons God sent her to me was for her to open the door to Christianity again. I peeked in ever-so-slightly...but stuck stubbornly to my New Age roots I had laid down.

I went to a non-denominational church in college for a year or so. I sang in the choir. When I moved to Madison, I went to a Unitarian church and sang in that choir.

Then I married, moved to Small Town, Wisconsin...the waters rushed downhill and at that moment, when Husband prayed - the big WHOOSH happened - and everything changed.

And that, my friends, is my history with God. I'm still learning how to relate to Him. I'm growing every day. And I am so so grateful to be a Christian. It is where I belong. It is my calling.

I am not ashamed of my childhood heathen years of devoting my prayers to The Care Bears, reading Mom's favorite book - because it was all about the thing that God teaches us about the most:


Bless you.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

More on Suffering

I come back to the topic of suffering a lot, don't I. I fixate on it and ponder, ponder, ponder. Why do we suffer? Must we at all? Sometimes I think yes, sometimes I think no; sometimes I think the word "suffer" is the wrong word to use.

I'm reading another fabulous new book: "Your Secret Name: Discovering Who God Created You to Be" by Kary Oberbrunner (he was featured on my fav. radio show, Live the Promise). He states that there is so much discontent (paraphrased) in the world because people don't know their "secret names." That is, the identity they embody at their core. Strip the Given Names: SLOB, SELFISH, DECEIVER, etc. He explains his own journey from a self-injuring, stutterer who was floundering in Bible School to a well-defined man who had, though trial after trial, discovered his own Secret Name. I won't tell you what his is; you'll have to read the book.

I realized, however, that he got to know his Secret Name through difficulty and suffering. Is that what it takes?

These hands of mine want to give, to touch, to love. They are red, cracked, stretched skin thin from the dry air and cold. It hurts to type, but I am doing it anyway. It hurts to hold a pen, but I write, nonetheless.

Is that life's story? Life's history? Persevering and, through graceful strife, come to the bounty that is rightfully ours? Do we not deserve it if we have had a happy, less trialsome life? Has anyone had such a life?

These questions haunt me. In the days before I knew Christ (before last November - and that was many years) I suffered almost daily. I had beautiful things in my life, so many blessings, but my vision was tinted and tainted by depression. I tried to fill the void, the darkness, with things I thought would keep me company.

I had no idea what company was until I prayed with Husband that November day, praying to God to help our lives that had suddenly turned downstream.

Never had I known a friend, never had I known a suitor, never had I known a companion as when I found the Lord.

I think about suffering a lot, even these days when I no longer suffer all the time. Jesus suffered for us. So we don't have to? Not necessarily. I don't think we have to suffer, but I think the way our paths are lined out, we must go through suffering to get to the other side where you meet your very best self. A self of survival. A self that trusts in Him.

Writing those words (I first typed 'worlds'), this song comes to mind. Read the lyrics, then listen to the song, if you like.

I can count a million times
People asking me how I
Can praise You with all that I've gone through
The question just amazes me
Can circumstances possibly
Change who I forever am in You
Maybe since my life was changed
Long before these rainy days
It's never really ever crossed my mind
To turn my back on you, oh Lord
My only shelter from the storm
But instead I draw closer through these times
So I pray

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

I am Yours regardless of
The dark clouds that may loom above
Because You are much greater than my pain
You who made a way for me
By suffering Your destiny
So tell me what's a little rain
So I pray

Holy, holy, holy
Is the Lord God Almighty

Bring the Rain by Mercy Me

Yes, Lord, You are greater than my pain. I am now realizing that for the first time. You are greater than the scars on my soul, greater than the hurt on my heart. You were there during all of it.

I am reminded of another blog post about rain and suffering. I noted that the Lord does not cause the rain, but He walks with you through it.

And I believe that.

Yet I have one question. It's a question that Husband and I have been pondering for a week or so now. If God is all-powerful and can choose to take away strife or give strife, why do people even suffer at all? Well, it is through free will choices that we suffer. But why do we continue to do so? Can't God put a stop to it? I am sincerely curious and confused about this.

Perhaps you can help me with a comment.

Bless you.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

First Poem on Faith

I played chicken on the tracks

for thirty-two years.

Stretched my leg along

the lip of the edge.

I was homesick for a home

I couldn't even fathom,

didn't even know I needed.

If I saw a woman on the street

I wouldn't recognize the God-in-her,

but a poor, forsaken soul

in need of help.

Thus: I was looking at myself.

When I opened myself to God

there was a WHOOSH, a huge exhale

of holiness, a great voice saying

you belong with me

not at the ledge

and suddenly I knew, I KNEW

my steps had been backward,

away from truth and divine love.

I inched closer to him, like a baby to

a new father, ready to fly

under His wing.