If you don’t know how much God loves you, read this!

 

The Renegade Bride

Homeless Angel by BanskyThis is not about that argument–beer. No, this is not an argument at all. I’m talking about God’s love.

I’m in pain, soul pain. I lift my head and see that we are finally letting loose the battle scars of self-sufficiency we have all had a turn holding. Now, we are bleeding as the infected stitches and the puss from our infections of debt, too much T.V., sex and sexy things and hurt kids that don’t look like kids at all has finally unraveled. Only, there is not a sterile hospital waiting for our arrival. No, we can’t afford a hospital.

I am—we are–outside in the wilderness, living with a leather strap as a tourniquet to keep our hearts from metaphorically bleeding to death; a place where creative survival is not enough. And why isn’t it enough? Because few of us know we are loved.

Like balm on a festered…

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