Light storm in a tea cup
Yes! Every bit. Every bob.
I am made by God’s hands. He is that toddler painting away on his canvas — eyes wild with wonder, fingers dipped in color. A prodigy with crayons.
Jesus is not the boogeyman.
Let that sink in. He is not John Wick while God the Father is the godfather waiting for…
Have you encountered this man?
He rives through my heart like a tornado through a BRT bus park. He unseats death the incumbent and dethrones the old man of sin. His story is my story.