The good one

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What keeps us in the darkness, when all our hopes are gone?

Why can’t we find the colors of life in this grey zone?

Where are you when I need you…if I am so alone?

And how can Love survive into a heart of stone?

 

She cried a thousand rivers, while looking at the sky,

Were white and sweet and gentle, just like a lullaby

The arms that held her tightly before they said goodbye…

She angrily decided that faith was meant to die!

 

She signed in blood and anguish, her soul to give away

A pact so clear and simple, just like a childish play…

He was supposed to love her for ever and a day!

Oh, crazy heart, why did you…become such easy prey?

 

Indeed, he came to love her, because he missed her light…

He kissed the eyes that carry the darkness of the night,

And promised to revive that Love that seemed so bright!

In tears of blood he promised…for her he’ll surely fight!

 

But when the shadows came, was nothing but regret

The Love that once was sacred – now hanging by a thread,

He gladly set her free, pretending to forget

The tears, the pain, the anguish of this poor marionette…

 

He tried to write a poem, but curses have no rhyme,

And pain was bound to fill him until the end of time!

Forgiveness and damnation…between them such thin line!

When life itself is nothing but a repeated crime…

 

What keeps us in the darkness, where Love is almost none,

Why can’t we see above us the brightly shining sun?

Can you remember flying before you turn to run?

Could you believe my story if evil never won?

‘Cause in this world of angels, no pact was ever done!

No judgement or damnation upon her -the good one-

For she’s the Light inside us, and Light is never gone…

 

 

 

I found the image at: http://soundofheart.org/galacticfreepress/content/how-access-your-inner-sun

Title inspired by “Million Reasons” by Lady Gaga https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-B_iLyXzbvE

 

 

 

 

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I am the ghost of the girl you loved…

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She almost knocked me down with her pink bicycle, rushing like a storm through the people around. I don’t know if I was her only target, but she definitely dreamed of seeing me down, bleeding on the sidewalk. It didn’t happen, not this time, not here.

My salvation was not one of those “lucky chances”, or at least I chose not to see it that way. It was something angelic in the arms that pulled me away, something very soothing and serene in the voice that asked me if I’m alright.

The calming voice asked me if I know the girl who seemed to want nothing more than my disappearance. I know her anger, I said. Her bitterness and hate, the dark voices occupying the place where it used to be light.  She’s hurt and she’s alone in a battle that overwhelms even the strongest hearts.

The strong arms held me through my salvation and I was blessed to feel protected. How I wish she could run straight into the arms of love, instead of angrily storming into the claws of devastation. The tender voice remained silent in the face of my gratitude, but, then, it praised my will to forgive.

I know this girl…

She spends every awaken hour talking to the voices inside her. She believes that life took something away from her, so she’s craving for revenge. She fools her own heart, pretending to be a savage predator. I fear for her…

For the day she’ll discover how much of a victim she became. How the pieces of a broken love can be so sharp, they can cut so deep! I fear for the moment when she’ll stop hating me…for she would have to face her own vulnerability.

She is the girl who’s heart cried in vain for a love he took away.

How would I blame an empty shell? I asked in a broken voice, hiding my tears streamed face into his loving arms…but this would be just another lie, wouldn’t it be? the celestial voice replied.

For it is written for us to never be empty. And to never be alone.

Free will…a blessing or a curse? Yes, it’s a matter of choice if we fill our hearts with light, or we leave ourselves consumed by darkness.

Alone…this is not a choice, nor a possibility. Not in this life, not in the eternal one. Around us, every step we take, angels are watching. Closer than we’ll ever be willing to admit.

“If she’s the girl who loved in vain, ’till her heart turned into ice, then who are you?” playfully asked the innocent voice.

You know me, I whispered with a sad smile. I am her ghost…

 

 

I found the image at: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/1LRQe

Title inspired by Christina Perri’s song “The Lonely” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LhQ1c1MsYv0

 

 

 

 

I’ve got my angels now

maxresdefault“Some hearts stay close, pretending to be strong as a stone, declaring their self-righteousness while they’re only blind. To love…”

That’s what he said and the echo gave deepness to his voice. He smiled at me, even if his eyes had a certain sadness. Then, suddenly, he took my hand and guided me through the big, black gates.

“She’s with us! She doesn’t need a ticket to get inside. And she’ll stay for as long as her soul desires!”

I looked down, knowing that the ticket seller already recognized the lie. I was not with them and that was visibly clear. I wasn’t wearing the white coat they all had, I wasn’t that joyful as they seemed to be, my eyes had dark circles around them, from my sleepless nights, while their were blue and pure like the morning sky.

The ticket seller got closer to my protector and mumbled something, words that had no meaning to my rational mind, still, I knew I’ll remember them long after today…”what her soul desires…she cannot have…and she should pay, just like the rest of them…for this arrogance of thinking she’s special…”

“Don’t be afraid, I’ve got your back!”

He was still holding my hand, ignoring the rest of the group, and it was because of his warm touch that I could let myself feel this tremble inside me. My eyes kept searching for the only thing that would give some meaning to this journey of mine…

“They turned it into a museum…I know what you are searching for, they locked it away and hid it. See, it wasn’t politically correct to expose it here. Come with me, I will show you…”

He took me to a dark passage, leading to a closed gate. Behind bars, imprisoned and broke, the wooden cross was lying on the floor. A wooden Christ with red painted tears seemed to plead with the Heaven above. For us. From the coldness of the former church’s floor. And I…

I never felt so lonely and so helpless…

so scared and lost…

so defenseless and frightened…

For us. Human kind…

“Tell me, precious soul, what are you really searching for, in this place of lost hopes? Why do you keep exploring abysses, harming your own heart, when all you ever deserved was love and forgiveness?”

His gentleness and the way his eyes pierced the walls of my soul set free all the tears that my vulnerable eyes refused to cry for so long. And I cried for myself. For my lost love. For Christ and for humanity. For this old church turned into museum. For this world where faith is imprisoned so deep inside us.

And I fell on my knees, but a strong, cruel hand pulled me behind…

“How do you dare? For Christ’s name! You’re on holly ground! How do you dare?”

The ticket seller spit the words like venom to my heart. And once again, I desperately needed Him to guide my way…

“Exactly…in the name of Christ. She is with us, she can stay for as long as her soul needs!”

The love in his voice surrounded the place in pure light. He turned to me, in all his glory, with his wings open and his eyes shining.

“Stop searching…He is here.”

He touched my heart. Just like He promised, His touch made it new.

He made my heart pure again. For Him to live within…

 

 

I found the image at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tyiz2yEFIkU

Worthy of love!

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The sensation was a freezing cold kind of pain, it spread through my body, leaving my heart numb and my voice soundless. But the echoes of my conscience kept pushing me forward, one step at the time. In a place that, once upon a time, was called the bridge of fire

I knew he’s waiting for me, my yellowed eyes demon with his fire and his torches and his anger! I prayed I’d find him before it’s too late, but my abysses were filled with ice and where, a lifetime ago, were flames and smoke, now it was only a devastating white desperation.

The trembling shadow whit ghostly eyes seemed to wait for nothing but death itself. No sharp claws, no threatening grins, no blasphemous curses. Nothing to destroy me, nothing to feed the devouring fires of hell. Just a lonely boy with a frozen heart, desperately trying to put the pieces back together.

Here he is and there I am…So close, I can almost feel his pain and I know it’s real. I also know my gift and my mission. The voice inside me speaks loud and clear, words of love, words of faith. And my arms are ready to warm him up, back to life, back to love…

For one thing it’s certain and beyond any doubt…

“The day you stopped fighting was the day your heart froze. And I fell out of hell, just to pick up the pieces. It was a beautiful heart…”

He cried as he spoke his truths. I cried as I held his fragile soul. I cried as I fell in love with everything that was imperfect in him. As in myself.

“How does it feel…to see me so breakable…so human…The angel of dark. Your demon. The one you pushed, you broke, you set on fire and you fought with everything in you. Am I worthy of love, even if I was born of hate?”

He pleaded for my love, as if he ever needed to plead…

And I pleaded for my salvation, as I never pleaded before…

And the voice from above spoke loud and clear. Words of love, words of healing and acceptance. Questions that my conscience needs to answer in the most honest and truthful way.

How does it feel to see yourself as less than perfect?

Less than angelic, because your heart was touched by fire. Less than demonic, for the light you’re carrying is a divine one. 

Human, simply human. Loved, above anything else in this world. 

Treasured, even with your dark side, your rebellious fights and your insecurities.

Yes, worthy of love, even if, once upon a time, you called yourself a demon…

 

 

I found the image at: https://design.tutsplus.com/tutorials/create-an-angelic-sculpture-made-of-ice-in-photoshop–psd-7383

There are mountains way too high…

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They were shouting from the top of the mountain: Heyyyy!!! What are you doing down there?! It’s not safe, come here, on higher ground!

My knees were shaking and my clothes were tore, my hands were bruised and my lips were burned! The storm had cast fire and dust, water and acid from the black sky. I was clinging to the only light I kept seeing, a white candle burning bright in this little old church…

They were sending love letters from the top of the mountain: We love you! God loves you! If only you could climb to meet us! If only you would join our joyful meeting!

My visions got blurry while the flood got closer, dangerous and dark. The white candle was sending a flickering light over my teary face. My only thought was to kneel, imploring Heaven above to give me strong wings and wise eyes. But my knees were bleeding and my naked soul was slowly drowning.

They were smiling at me from the top of the mountain: You are special, you are important! You are unique! You can start climbing right now, what’s stopping you? 

My little church was sinking, so was my heart. Stuck in the thick mud, blocked from salvation, I decided to just lay still and expect the unexpected. There was no prayer I could remember, there was no ritual meant to produce miracles. The white candle was floating away, with no chance for me to ever reach it.

They were encouraging me from the top of the mountain:  You have the power to change things, start changing, start loving yourself! No one will climb the mountain for you, just do it!

It’s okay, I whispered to them, knowing they cannot possibly hear me. It’s alright, I’m fine. I’m really well, I’m hanging on. I’m absolutely, perfectly happy.

They were singing and dancing at the top of the mountain. Hugging each other, thanking each other…Blessing each other! Oh, dear, it’s so rewarding to save another soul. It’s such a good feeling when you help someone climb the mountain. We really have a gift! Let’s praise this moment of pure glory and joy!

Down there, in a small, sinking church, trying to reach the white candle, I was giving in. Then, someone came, with open arms and eyes filled with love and light. He took my hand and set me free from mud, dust, fire and flood. He gave me the white candle and gently spoke words of wisdom.

“Your little church is sinking, so is the world. Will you climb the mountain with me?”

He took me in his arms and, with one touch, he healed my scratched knees and my bruised hands. My lips knew the water of life. And I was grateful, I was joyful, I was free!

But, Lord…oh, my Lord! What about them? Their mountain is sinking…

The shadow of sadness in His eyes was enough to awake in me all the tears I needed to cry…

“I know them and I love them. If only they would remember me in their hour of darkness…”

We will, my Lord, we will.

 

I found the image at: http://xtrasizesg.com/dark-vs-light-wallpaper.html

Heaven can wait!

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August 31, 2005

Her breath becomes regular, her arms rest still along her body. Her eyes are closed and nothing betrays her inner torment. She’s sleeping. No, she pretends to be asleep! She has to respect her part of the pact. The part where we’ll watch each other over the first night.

They called us princesses for going through a C-section. They said that if we don’t sleep during the first night, we’ll be forced to sleep. They send our families home with a smile, telling them that we’re completely safe and taken cared of. They lied.

We decided that they’re perverted and dangerous. The pact was simple: we will get out of this damn hospital safe and sane, holding our babies. Her boy and my girl, born almost at the same time. There was another part of the pact…to keep each other smiling, even through stress and tiredness. Postpartum depression will have to wait ’till we’ll be home again.

Somehow, I failed at this second part.

She asked for another painkiller and the nurse laughed, mocking her.

“Come on, little princess, can’t you stand a little pain? That’s how it feels to have a baby. Not all fun and sexy now, isn’t it?”

She got all blushed, almost apologizing until the nurse left. Then I saw her trembling, all white, having trouble breathing. She calmed down almost immediately, but I knew…

-Hey, C., how are you holding up? Still in the mood for chocolate cookies?

She smiles, trying to reach out to my bed, to touch me. Her hand is cold, so cold…

“I never, ever, in my entire life, I never had such pain. I swear, if I make it out alive…”

-What?! Listen, C.! One year from now, we’ll be sipping from some fancy cocktails and eating chocolate, while watching our children playing in the sand. And you’ll be skinny and perfect, while I’ll be complaining about the extra-weight…”

“Please…”

She’s stopping me and that’s a terrible sign. I feel like crying myself, but I have to stay strong.

“Do you…have…that…rosary?”

-Ha! That rosary that you said it’s so heavy that I could kill someone with it!

The rosary was, in fact, a little piece of art. Its beads were made of thick glass and the cross is ironed. Yes, it was big, heavy and completely, totally inappropriate for going to a hospital with it. But, I don’t know why, I just had to take it with me.

“Can you…pray?”

-To pray? Now?

“For me”

-No! I will call the nurse now! I will not pray for you like you would be dying! I wont!

My body is still numb from the surgery, I cannot feel my legs and I cannot move, but I manage to find the emergency button. I push it desperate, I push it like it’s my way to salvation.

No one comes. And, in my struggle, I finally have a better view over her bed. And I cry.

“What? Why are you crying? What’s wrong? You saw something, didn’t you?”

I’m not telling her about the blood, I’m not! I need to wipe out my tears and find a solution. I ignore the blood and I ignore the fact that she’s struggling for her life. All I’m focusing is a way to find help.

But she’s exhausted and she’s clinging to my hand like she would be drowning.

“I dreamed Heaven last night. I knew it’s a bad sign, but I just hoped that…It’s beautiful there…the light is so beautiful and bright…and…”

I can’t hear this! I’m not watching her dying! I’m not breaking the pact! But I can’t move and no one is coming through that door, no one is even looking at us through the glass window that communicates with the corridor. A glass window…like my Rosary…

And I know what to do.

-Know what, C.? Heaven can wait! You owe me some chocolate cookies. And a new Rosary!

The noise awakened all the medical stuff. My Rosary hit the window with a force I never knew I’m capable of. The window broke, the beads fell and got smashed on the ground in million pieces. One of the little pieces bounced back and scratched my forehead. I did not cared at all!

They called me “psychotic” and they even tied my hands to the bed, “for my own safety”. They untied me early in the morning, before my family came to see me. They talked about my “postpartum depression”, about how aggressive I reacted. They threatened to take away my baby…

She was rushed back into the surgery room. She was on the edge, but her life was saved. The doctor came to me, looking down, with a long and complicated story about what happened. A diagnosis I could not pronounce. Along with their apologies.

August 31, 2018

“We took separate ways, but I never forgot you. I never stopped praying for you and for your family. Every year, on August 31, when my boy blows up the candles, I whisper, like a mantra, your words: Heaven can wait…Thank you!”

I read her message in tears. She moved away, far away, probably trying to forget that night…or so I thought until now.

I never broke another Rosary.

But I would do it again, with the same God-given strength!

 

 

I found the image at: https://ro.pinterest.com/pin/464574517796545447/?lp=true

The way she needs to be touched

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Against all good judgement, she’s teasing the fire. “Do I look beautiful in the light of the flames?” she asks laughing, defying all the burns, the wounds, the ashes and the pain. Her long hair covers a naked soul, shamelessly burning, endlessly calling, helplessly pleading.

Against all odds, she’s carrying her heart on a silver plate. “Anyone? Anyone at all? Is there someone, anyone who’d want a free heart?” she asks innocently, but her eyes betray her intentions when she’s barging for a soul she considers lost long ago.

Against all logic, she settles for less while she’s pleading for more. “Am I still worthy of love, even when I have nothing left to give?” she asks hopelessly, too scared to look up. Not because the sky would cast its fires against her, but because…

“What if there’s no one up there?”

For she describes herself in terms of witchcraft and curses, so she casts spells upon the four winds. She denies any authority and she drinks a full cup of venom every full moon. She speaks the language of snakes and hears the whispers of abysses, calling her, tempting her…

They say she’s a  sorcerer.

They see hell and demons reigning into her soul. Devastation and horror.

I only see a lost child who’s heart is wandering in a labyrinth of fire and darkness. I see myself, a lifetime ago. Long before the skies became clear and blue and He came to me with open arms, asking me to love…

And I remember, I’ll always remember that peaceful feeling…

When He took my heart and casted away all darkness and all fears. He restored light into my teary eyes and reassured me with words I was longing to hear. That I am loved. And I am precious. And my soul was never truly lost, it was always His…

Against all whispers, she heard His voice…

Against all shadows, she saw the path of Light…

Against all hatred, her heart was touched by Grace and Love…

The way every heart needs to be touched. 

 

 

I found the image at: https://exploregram.com/gods-hands-are-the-safest-place-to-lay-your-heart-in-warm/

The only hero left…

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The little boy was sitting on the steps of the church, visibly hurt. Visibly in pain, even if his wounds were only bleeding deep inside the very core of his heart. Trying so hard to be angry instead of being sad.

Because boys don’t cry.

Never.

Not even when love is replaced with threats and manipulative promises.

So, when I took his hand in mine, he pulled away. With dust on his palms and face, with a recent scar, hidden behind his curtain of careless hair, he decided to take this mask and make it his own nature. Feeding the hurt with offensive words. Pushing away any attempt to melt his wild desperation.

Because boys don’t need hugs.

Never.

Not even when silence and solitude are strongly embracing their souls.

In simple words, spoken harshly and brief, he said he’s not interested. Faith. He spoke the word with hate. But he confessed the crime, expecting a punishment. Expecting rejection, yelling, abuse, fear. Hatred.

“Yes, I did it! I’m the one who broke the crucifix! Because He’s no longer my friend! And I wanted Him to feel the way I’m feeling.”

I asked him about his feelings, but he started to laugh.

Because boys don’t talk about their emotions.

Never.

Not even when it’s almost too late.

I knew that words are not enough for him. Even if they were, I still wouldn’t know what to say. I’m not that good with words. He wasn’t going to accept me, my words, my hugs, my care. So I just sit there, with him, in silence. On the stairs of the church. But the waiting game was never my favorite.

And God knew that.

So he sent us a gentle rain, through golden rays and chirping birds. Through tears and broken hearts. And, at some point, the little boy looked at me with hope. And we spoke about super heroes and their magical powers.

“What’s the point? They’re only in our imagination.”

“Well, I know for sure that one of them is real.”

“Yeah, right. Me. The only hero left…”

He wiped away his tears and headed home. To make the right choices, just like heroes do. To save his family and to restore love and protection as unbreakable laws. To rediscover his faith. Like every modern hero would. Like every true man should.

And if some day, any day, the hurt little boy inside his heart will destroy another crucifix, that’s okay too. He’ll surely find forgiveness and love, grace and blessing. As long as he believes.

 

 

Dedicated to the heroes disguised in black sheep.

 

 

 

The weakness in my faith…

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The yellowed eyes demon grinned with an undisguised superiority.

So illogical and so foolish, but I admit, it was funny! Now, seeing you crawling, really doesn’t humor me anymore. You are becoming boring and predictable. Your bravery is nothing but a pathetic attempt and your faith is nothing but a joke. LOL, as you, human creatures love to say.”

I could see myself, really clear, like from a mirror, but this image was so different from what I hoped it would be. Naked and ashamed, frightened and fearful, broken and frail. Searching desperately for a sign.

“Oh, are you looking for this?”

He pushed away my burning Bible, laughing cruelly at the sight of my bloody hands, trying to gather the broken pages.

“Ashes and smoke! And you thought this was your shelter! Your salvation! Is this how you’re going to fight me?”

I wasn’t going to answer. My mind was feverishly searching for the moment when I fell.

“Let me remind you. You came to me, holding your book like a sword, so proudly parading with your faith and your light and your love! LOL again! You were so easy, too easily to defeat. Look at you now, where is your shelter? Poor creature, created by an absent Creator!”

That’s when I understood. My choice was wrong from the very moment when I decided to be in control. My supremacy was nothing but a trap and I fell right in it. The hunter turned into a weak prey and that’s only because I forgot…

To ask for help…

To invoke His love and protection…

To see myself the way I truly am…

naked, broken and afraid.

The yellowed eyes demon raised his black sword upon me.

“If you only knew the power of your lowliness, you’d be brighter than the stars. You would be the one holding the sword of faith upon me.”

I closed my eyes, ready for a blow that never came.

“I’m not meant to break your wings, foolish human creature. Why would I, when you are so good on doing this for yourself! Even so, the lesson remains and the warning stays.”

See yourself for who you really are. 

Broken, naked, burned or beaten.

Frightened, fearful, hopeless or ashamed.

You are still beautiful because He sees you this way…

Thank you, Father, for always seeing the beauty in us, your beloved children.

 

 

Not a victory march!

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“I ran to you, like running to a shelter, because my heart is heavy and tears are burdening my soul. It’s me, the one who needs you so much! Please hide me in your loving arms, even if I failed you. Love me even if I’m unworthy…”

My voice broke in a silent cry, the hurt inside made my knees tremble and I felt so fragile, standing there in front of the cross. The light was cruel that morning and I covered my eyes, but my rosary felt on the floor and, in just a second, fifteen red beans were scattered and lost, along with every trace of hope in my heart…

That’s when I lost it, that’s when the hurt inside took control and I broke down at His feet.

That’s when someone’s strong arms lifted me and carried me, holding me tight, saying warm, comforting words. The voice I knew so well…

It’s alright…

-No, it’s not! I mean it, Christian, it’s not!

-I’m here for you…just tell me what happened, I’ll fix it for you…

-Nothing happened…

But he wasn’t going to settle to less than the complete truth. He asked me to look into his eyes and to tell the story, every little detail, through sobs and tears…

“Okay…but you wont like it, you wont like me. See, I’ve always been a fighter for the things I believed in. My faith was one of them, the first of them. I made a promise to defend it against anyone and anything. But today…

…there were these people, two or three, one of them was the vocal one, while the others just followers. Lost sheep? Anyway, they were mocking the things I believe in. My faith, my God, my church. And I saw them looking at me, starring at the medal I’m wearing. How would they see it? A small symbol, something I wear with modesty and discretion, like a reminder…

…The vocal one came to me and asked me in a very aggressive and sarcastic tone: What is your faith? What do you believe in?…

…and I froze. I could have answer in so many ways, so many beautiful ways…But I just stayed silent. So he continued: So you agree that there’s nothing! He pointed to the sky. And I wanted to walk away, but he just followed me, almost shouting: What is your faith?

…and you know what I said? The coward me, the stupid, unworthy me! I told him:

“Faith is something I respect too much to gossip about it. This is not the way, not the moment to discuss my faith.”

He insisted with an evil grin on his face: “When is the right moment? After a coffee? After doing some shopping maybe? After chatting with your friends maybe?”

I ignored the questions and I ran.”

Oh…

-And I cannot understand why are people like this! Why can’t we treat each other with love, why can’t we be like brothers? Why is it always someone thinking he can teach us a lesson! Why, Christian? Why are these things happening to me? Why was I so scared in front of these bullies? I hate myself for not defending my faith!

He hugged me so tight, trying to sound calm, but I saw the clenched fists, the anger in his eyes.

-Don’t ever say you hate yourself, not if you love your God. You are His child, you call him Father. So don’t, okay? 

-But why…

-Because you are a target ever since you were born. Your precious soul, your beautiful heart, your love…they’re at war, you are fighting a war you don’t even begin to understand!

-I’m losing this war, Christian…

-No! Listen, sweet girl…Love is not a victory march! Neither faith! What is that book of yours teaching you? To love your enemies. Your prayers for them are shaking and breaking the fires of hell…

That’s when I looked at him and realized the miracle of this situation. A man who denied God long ago, a man who call himself “A Luciferian”, a man who despise the church, a man who broke and burned his Bible…

…this man spoke to me words of faith, offering himself as an instrument of Love. He was more of a warrior of light than I’ll ever be.

I touched his face and he kissed my fingers.

-Thank you. From all people…

-Nah, don’t mention it. Where else would I be?

But…how did you know?

-Because I love you. Just that simple.

 

 

The source of the image: https://www.dailystrength.org/group/christian-fellowship/discussion/god-fights-our-battles