Maybe my garden isn’t barren. Maybe it’s bleeding. I knelt there again today. In the soil I’ve worked so hard to till. The same place I cried over seed packets and made promises to grow something wort
I am learning that God never hurries, even when my heart does. I rush because grief makes everything feel urgent. Because loss convinces me that time is slipping through my fingers like sand I cannot
I keep thinking about the tomb. How He stood there, the stone still sealed, the grief still thick in the air, the finality still heavy on everyone’s breath. He knew what was coming. He knew resurrecti
Comments