(Source: slychedelic, via a-restless-wind)
“I am in such constant deep and desperate need of the life-altering power of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Because I can’t undo a single thing I’ve done. I can’t unsay a single thing I’ve said. I can’t unbreak a single heart or unburn any bridge. I simply could not save myself; I hated who I was.
But even when every ounce of it is true- relentless grace abounds that much more.
I am no longer afraid of how bad my bad news was. I’m not afraid to let it in or make it known. Because I cannot tell you enough how perfectly good the Good news is.
I deserve all of what will be said about me to cover me forever- what I don’t deserve is to have those stains washed clean. But they have been. Hallelujah, they have been.
And I am clean.
Jesus, I am never not in need of you. Thank you for every reminder- even the painful ones.
Today was a startling jolt to why I must always keep the Gospel in full view- to remain in absolute awe of its full redeeming power at every single moment. And to know that who it has made me now is not at all who I have been.
I am grateful for a past that points to mercy above all else; for all I have is all I need and all of it is grace.
World: I was worth it to the King.”
I’m reeling with eyes closed, knees bent, spine curled, arms outstretched. The world spins and won’t settle.
Ground me! Anchor me! I am flailing, unraveling into piles of knots. Tensing. Releasing. Breath is held like it’s sustenance, feeding off the air and the release hurts. Jaw is clenched and heart is beating off-tempo wild. Dizzy disjointed thoughts momentarily suspended to entertain surroundings surrounders. Tears don’t flow from a source so violent and volatile. Thoughts won’t settle in a madly moving mind and a day feels defined by my inability to grab onto anything.
Loving people through things the world tells you to reject them for is liberating for everyone involved.
Gosh. I just miss my family so dang much.
“Storm in a teacup”
My thigh tattoo
Designed and tattooed by María Nikólskaya, Bilbao, Spain
no words.
“There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.”
//Walter Wellesly
(via a-restless-wind)
