He does not live here, nor in any other building, of any kind.
His table always has room.
Moon rise.
His water is living water.
Through a glass ...
Rua ...
Knock, knock ...
Quiet evening.
Do you live your life by half measures?
A night with family.
A night with family.
A night with family.
A night with family.
I can't figure out why so many people think of angels as pretty girls. 'T'ain't so.
This is how so many people treat their lives: they pave their hearts to protect them, then paint some lines of order on the surface. Eventually, cracks appear, then the trash of a thousand consequences. Is your heart paved?
