I pulled the hand weight up to my shoulder, letting out one last grunt. I eyed myself from every angle in the mirror-clad room, as sweat dripped from the tip of my nose. Putting the weights back in their place, I gathered my things from the shelf (I’ve never had enough patience for a cool-down
“Because the ultimate expression of power is control.” I was only half-listening to the TV that I intended to play in the background of our apartment. I’m a Millennial so, of course, I sat on my couch on my phone with the TV playing in the background. Nothing coming through the speakers had piqued my
“I wasn’t made to be her.” I had to say it out loud last night as I walked out of the gym last night. It had been just a tad too long since my last work out and, well, the size two on the bike next to me was just a bit too much for
She had blonde hair and a pink dress made of tulle. She was the most composed companion a seven year-old could ask for, and for a season of my childhood the two of us were inseparable. I took her to the library and read her Where the Wild Things Are, and she listened in placid silence.
Our holy God, It is here we find ourselves yet again. Here – where words have run dry, where speech is quenched, where silence is most becoming of our beings. Yes, here we are. There is shame in our countenance. Bitterness in our look. Because we seek to meet You in the grandness of Your Spirit,