I've not posted much this past week, and doubt I'll have much chance to in the coming week either. Having to let go of some things right now in a quest to survive and to not give in under the weight of some tremendous stress.
It's not quite Holy week yet, but I think God might be preparing me to walk a passion kind of road. It's hard.
Needing to flee to the life of Jesus. Needing to rest in his arms.
A pause for poetry in the midst of everything. This from W.B. Yeats.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
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