Second Blog

Abigail Shinkle
Jul 27, 2017 · 3 min read

Heeeey, welcome back! Or here’s a friendly handshake if it’s your first time around. There’s not much to see and definitely nothing to hear ‘cause writing isn’t audible, unless you’re thinking of the sound you get when someone is scratching a pencil across a piece of paper or the click-click-click of a computer keyboard. Most often these days, though, it is the muffled tapping of fingertips racing across the keyboard of a smartphone. At least that’s what I hear right now.

I like to think that you skipped this whole intro thing because who really reads introductions? They just go on forever, talking about why they wrote the content they’ve given you to read, giving you reasons why you should like it, why it’s so important to them… BLAH BLAH BLAH. Or worst of all is when they get someone to write an introduction for them! “Oh, hey, could you convince everyone that I’m not only a really good writer, but that I’m also a very good person? Thanks so much!” I’ll just have you know that none of this has anything to do with what I’ve actually written.

Good luck.


Falling asleep to the sound of rain, ear pressed against the window for when everything else becomes too loud. I can hear the water tapping against the glass, like a traveler seeking lodging.

Just a warm place to lay his head,

full of dreams and aspirations, lies and frustrations, just seeking a foundation in all the parts of your heart that scream for salvation.

REDEMPTION, like the carved initials of two long forgotten lovers, you’ve forgotten your Lover and the redeeming factor is, He hasn’t forgotten you.

You’ve held your breath for so long you’ve started to believe you no longer need air to breathe, no longer need relief that surpasses passing moments, collecting futile tokens to remind you of what you had after you had nothing. Dust creates dust, and decay reaches into the depths of the living to further the reaches of what no longer breathes.

Put into your hands something beautiful and watch what grows. Your heart is a garden, undefined by rain or sun, refined by the give and take thereof. You are not a final breath, but a first gasp.

Close your eyes and listen.

You are not made out of the anger that reaches your ears. You are not crafted by the clothes you wear on your back. You were not created to be defined by the place you work. You are a masterpiece and the Master who pieced you together is still calling you to who you are meant to be.

IDENTITY, like a house torn from its foundation, it’s been taken and it’s taking you a long time to realize that. You’ve been searching for a home where there are no trees to build one. Stop looking around and see that I am one.

Your eyes are the color of My voice. Your hair the way the earth shakes when I walk. Your mind My hands that crafted you from dust. Your heart the way I smile when I catch your gaze.

You are not defined by the way you are treated. You are not crafted by the way you have been disappointed. I breathed your name when I breathed into you, life. It catches in My throat when I say “You are Mine.”

I am how you are defined.

    Abigail Shinkle

    Written by

    love can’t be an abstract theory we only talk about, but a way of life demonstrated.

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