a jumbling mess


Storing up the good stuff – that’s what I’ve been doing. Some days, I do it well; some days, I need a re-do.

I don’t have much organization about me right now. Maybe it’s a free-write, a stream of consciousness, a jumble, a mess of ideas, a written patch-work quilt that needed a quilting-kind-of writing, a bunch of windows with pieces and parts views of what’s going on in my blue cotton soul.

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again” ~C.S. Lewis in the forward of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was a birthday gift, a set of all the books, which I’d never read. It was like God was telling me, “Don’t give up on the fairy tales – keep on believing – because I’m the knight in shining armor . . .”

Why do people ever think they are too old for fairy tales? One of the best birthday gifts ever was when my mother gave me a book of fairy tales a few years ago, and it had my very favorite fairy tale: “The Goose Girl.” 

Travel soccer season has its charm. My boys’ cleats aren’t the only things with a lot of wear and tear. One evening, though, all my boys gathered to play a game on the home turf – and it was the best game of them all.

One Saturday morning found me in my aunt’s front yard, in my home town on festival day reminding me of different time, a different group of people stepping out of houses into community – when my grandmother and grandfather waltzed in the festival twilight to a swing orchestra on a slow song.

My granddaughter trying on hats, playing pretend where she’s the mommy and I’m the little girl doing pirouettes and pliés in the back yard when, suddenly, she bursts out, “Muddy, I love you so much” – and my heart stops and melts at the same time.

Boys growing into responsibility, stretching beyond themselves and finding they can without ripping or breaking a part.

Hours gluing boxes shut because someone else made a big mistake – and the silver linings are boys come together, and friends, too, talking about big and little things, little and big – moments filled with laughter, revealing that sometimes buried in a slog of work are silver-lining blessings.

After more than 10 years of growing trees, digging out flower beds, building raised vegetable and herb beds, raising lemon balm, chocolate mint and lavender, splitting bulbs, throwing zinnia seeds and learning faith lessons from blue hydrangeas – the squirrels came across the street to live, build nests, bury seeds – and cause crazy-intense, brain-zapping joy to Sadie, the golden retriever.

Blue jays on a tree limb, hummingbird battles over sweet elixer, and a porch frog that comes out at night.

Over three-mile walks by the coffee shop, through the historic district, into the heart of the university, over the railroad tracks, past the ice cream shop, back to the coffee shop, to my car, to home – and I am stretched, too, as the world shakes and grumbles under blood moon warnings.

A time to live intentionally, walk new paths, sit long and talk much about big and little things, bake daily relief cookies or celebration cakes, and I look into eyes watching whether they look directly blinking naturally or slip away right, and praise God for all the ways boys grow.

I’m learning to release them, these boys . . . . to their own story (see Sharon Sharing God for more on this).

. . . and I’m learning about living with wider margins for gentleness. I know how to be a fighter, to live courage and not-give-up-ness – but there’s a seed of gentleness that needs to grow – Lidia at Crown of Beauty put words to something brewing within me.

and, then one day, I read this: “Those of us who are strong and able in the faith need to step in and lend a hand to those who falter, and not just do what is most convenient for us. Strength is for service, not status. Each one of us needs to look after the good of the people around us, asking ourselves ‘How can I help?’” (Romans 15:2, The Message)

I gathered 5 red tomatoes from my plants today and felt a peace deep inside.

God’s extravagant love is all around, quiet and loud.

I go tomorrow to meet my mom in Atlanta. We’re going to see a cancer doctor about these cancerous tumors she’s got that need getting rid of. She’s driving 6 hours; I’m driving 3.5. I so love how she’s lived the last 10 years – she’s found joy, discovered that God loves her, and, one day, a black angel, she says, saved her life on the roadside while she was gasping from an asthma attack, unable to breath and unable to use her inhaler, and this last summer, she worked at vacation bible school – she loves helping others.

I’ve dreamed dreams this last little while, one in particular where my husband and I were given a house – just the style we admire. I was so happy – he had a perfect office/library for him in this house. As I was being shown around the house, a door was opened – and there was a thinking room just for me, for books and reading and work, too – exactly my hearts desire. I didn’t have to ask. I didn’t have to plan. It had already been designed for me.

This post has been a mess of a jumble – a beautiful mess of a jumble. That’s just where I’m living right now.

“I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, ‘Jump,’ and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing” (1 Cor. 13:2)

http://lauraboggess.com/  PlayDates with God
http://www.solideogloriasisterhood.com/   Soli Deo Gloria Connections
http://www.thebeautyinhisgrip.com/    Sharing His Beauty
http://afieldofwildflowers.blogspot.com/     Small Wonder (formerly Unforced Rhythms)
http://donnareidland.com   Mondays @ Soul Survival
On Tuesday:
http://www.richfaithrising.com/    Unite the Bloggosphere
http://purposefulfaith.com/     Cheerleading #RaRaLinkUp
http://hollybarrett.org/     Testimony Tuesday
On Wednesday:
http://www.messymarriage.com/  Messy Marriage
http://www.juanamikels.com/     Wednesday Prayer Girls
http://www.w2wministries.org/     Word-Filled Wednesdays
http://holleygerth.com/     Coffee for Your Heart
On Thursday:
http://3dlessons4life.com/     Thought-Provoking Thursday
http://www.faithbarista.com/     Beloved Brews
http://tsuzanneeller.com     Live Free Thursdays

I’m the gate. If anyone enters through me, he will be saved. He’ll come in and go out and find pasture ~ John 10:9

“Jump a Fence

Climb a Tree

Homespun, he is Free”

from Blackberry Roland, by Blue Cotton Memory

From little feet puddle jumping to  muscles and cleats sliding through mud and rain-soaked tackle, these boys of mine don’t always choose the neat, tidy paths and gateways.

God placed within their tiny hearts before they were born – a desire for freedom, a frontier-kind of spirit that would lead them out of bondage, through a parting sea – and into a new land, a land where the banner of Shaddai flies high for all to see, where children are taught with their first steps that Jehovah-Rohi shepherds them through the gate, hand-in-hand with the Savior.

Through the gate – it sounds so simple. Forging new paths, to discover new ideas – like Ford with automobiles or Charles Best who discovered insulin – or Neil Armstrong walking on the moon – fence jumping sure seems a quicker way to get there. Their toes almost itch to jump fences – from the time they learn to walk.

These boys to men seem designed to avoid gates.

I see it in their desire to debate – just for the sake of debate – chewing (sometimes it seems like gnawing) their logical teeth on challenging authority or the status quo.

How many times have I said, “Don’t outsmart your common sense.”

The oldest, he taught them all the longest word in the dictionary: Antidisestablishmentarianism – and, to him, it meant not taking establishment ideas at face value. At first glance, the gate looks like establishment ideas.

Some shun the gate because their parents walked through. The gate seems to have always been there. It seems so ordinary, so every day, so already done. These boys to men don’t just go through the gate because it’s there – it often seems like a life motto they’ve worn emblazened inside.


“I am the Gate for the Sheep,” Jesus tells us (John 10:7)

These boys to men – they gotta have Him – there’s no other way – no other way to be delivered from all that life will throw at them – from the liars, cheats, and thieves who aim to steal more than their wallets, identity or cell phones.

The gate isn’t religion. It isn’t rules. It isn’t an activity list of things we do. The gate is relationship. Relationship is the releases the gate latch – relationship with the one who designed you, the one who died to save you.

Real relationship. You cannot get there by fence jumping (fulfilling the bucket-list of Christian-expected behavior but not relationship) – or digging under it.

I imagine that if you wanted to spend time with Him debating – I imagine He would welcome that as the beginning of relationship. You might not be through the gate – but at least you’re at the gate with Him.


A few years ago, I hosted a an unofficial small group with some parents of teens, friends of my sons still at home – and we read Sticky Faith together, trying to figure out how to get these boys to men who have walked through that gate when they were little – to continue living through the gate – in His pasture where they live “saved from sin, the dominion of it, the guilt and condemning power of it, and at last from the being of it; and from the law, its curse and condemnation, and from wrath to come, and from every evil, and every enemy”(Gill’s Exposition, Bible Hub).


Some were frontier parenting – this was their first foray into the teen years. Others, like us, had older children who entered through the gate or were fence jumpers or tried digging under it, trying any way to avoid the actual relationship required to go through the gate.  We needed fresh eyes to break battle-fatigue habits, to re-equip, re-adjust, re-train for the next 6 years.

Sitting across the table, breaking bread – (getting ready for them to start the teen book while we went over the parent’s book) – learning ways to intentionally open the clogged conversational arteries with our children, how our spiritual gifts communicate with each other (not part of the book, but part of what we are doing) – and how to encourage real relationship with the one who created them, who loves them – who died to save them.

One of the things I loved about this group is that it included some of their inner circle of friends. As one teen filled a bowl of soup, a parent asked,”Who influences you most now – your parents or your peers?”

We were not looking a right answer – We were looking for his answer.

“My peers,” he answered. Another answered, “My parents.” Each gave valid reasons, truthful reasons.

Maybe by pulling them to the table, bowl by bowl – with friend’s parents who they tease includes their “favorite mom” – maybe, just maybe we can mentor faith that sticks: real, life relationship faith.

How can we as parents encourage relationship building of these sons with their Savior? Real relationship building – We asked our sons to define what it meant to be a Christian?

Sometimes their was a disconnect between the logos “right” answer and the rhema (the aliveness) of their answer in their every day. They knew the right answer but their actions weren’t always in tandem with the right answer. Both were still fusing together.

Over the bowls of soup, I also wanted to ask, “Who is influencing your gate relationship with Christ?”

“What does that gate relationship consist of?”

What does it mean to pass through the gate to the pasture?

Or are you just fence jumping.

Today, about 2 years later, those mentoring relationships are making a positive difference. Other moms and dads interacting, having real conversation – not scared-to-intrude conversation have created peers who reflect that interaction into their peer relationships.

I’ve seen hard decisions made by these young men who prayed first and put self second.

I’ve seen young iron sharpening young iron because of real relationships with other moms and dads showed them how in breaking-bread, over-the-counter real conversation.

They’re pausing at the temptation to fence jump – and instead making the decision to hang out at the gate, take ownership of that relationship found there. In the ownership, they’re discovering it’s not an establishment relationship. It’s a real, personal, one-on-one relationship – a grafting together kind of relationship.

Going through the gate? Or fence jumping?

(updated, September 9, 2015)


All gate photos except for last were taken at Colonial Williamsburg, Fall 2013

I think the most challenging part of being a mom of sons-only – is I don’t have a daughter to pass the stories down to – and women are designed to be story-tellers, keepers of the family faith story. We are designed to  pass the God in us down. Brandee at Smooth Stones asked me a few weeks ago to stop by her place (figuratively), have a cup of tea (figuratively) and pass some encouragement down as her first-born enters high school. She has doubly blessed me!  If you need  some encouragement as you raise your teens, please join us!

Dear Brandee, Your son’s just started high school. I can just see that first day. He’s all ready to go out the door, catch the school bus: back-pack stuffed with school supplies, water bottles, – not lunch because he wants to try their lunch, to see if it’s different. . . better. His back pack isn’t heavy, yet. There’s room for books, but not as much room as he’ll realize he needs.

You probably watched him walk to the bus, like independence on training-wheels, that walk up to a doorway to a new era.

You’re more left behind than ever. You can’t walk him out, stand with him like you did in the primary years. You can’t just pop into school to see the teacher at the end of the day to pick up nuggets and morsels of what’s really going on.

Hands-off time has begun – kind of like on the cooking competitions you see on t.v.  when that buzzer rings, hands fly off – and up.

He pulls himself up through those bus doors that will take him to a school where everything is possible – booze, drugs, PDA, friends who lift up and those who pull down, teachers who encourage and discourage, believers, non-believers – it’s all in there

. . . . . and you just let him go. . . .

When you just let him go, remember the other back pack – the one you can’t see – that soul back pack that you started filling the day he was born . . . . Read the Rest Here (Click)

whitehouse215_edited-1The little years seem like once-upon-a-time ago – but it was once upon a time in the little years, when a little boy wanted to run away. He didn’t like his new room in the new house built in the woods near the creek. He missed his raspberry sorbet room with the blue and white ticking in the suburbs. The joyful little boy had misplaced his joy in the move and wanted to run away, back to the suburbs  – so he did.

His bigger brother still little came running into the kitchen while their mama stirred a pot of something good, holding a littlest on her hip.

“Mama, he’s run away,” said the bigger brother.

“Let me know when he goes past Ms. Judy’s mailbox,” she said, stirring the pot, soothing the baby.

“But, Mama,” he stammered, unbelieving (because, he just knew, that if it was him, he’d go beyond the mailbox).

“Just let me know when he goes past Ms. Judy’s mailbox,” said the mama.

Every 5 minutes, the bigger brother came back, flummoxed why his mama hadn’t flown outside to save his brother.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“At Ms. Judy’s mailbox.”

The little boy who’d misplaced his joy never went beyond the mailbox. His mama knew he wouldn’t. However, she knew the one who so worried about him, she knew that if he took it into his head to run away, he’d be down the road, onto the highway and halfway to where-ever he wanted to go before anybody knew.

That night, when the moon came out, the boys were tucked into their beds all snug, bedtime stories read, songs sung and prayers said – and all the hearts and minds that lived in the new little house in the woods near the creek slept in peace.

A few years later, when the little boys grew long legs that stretched for independence – the bigger one did leave home before he was really ready. The little brother who’d once misplaced his joy cried at his leaving and blamed his mama, not understanding. The bigger brother, he went past the mailbox about 4 times, and 4 times his mama found him, brought him back, knowing he wasn’t ready yet. Until one time, he packed all that was important to him and left, right after graduation.

The mama, she didn’t go get him. She stirred over the pots in the kitchen, matched socks, shook out the rugs. At night, she tucked the littlest ones in bed – because there were more little ones then. She read bedtime stories, sang songs and said bed-time prayers – and all the hearts and minds that lived in the growing older house in the woods tried to sleep in peace.

While the mama stirred those pots, though, she prayed. God knew what her son needed. She asked that God help her. Then she asked that God stand with her. Then she asked that God would help her let go and let Him help her son.

Some time later, her son walked through the back door of the growing older house on the edge of the woods, realizing that where he had been was not where he needed to be. As he grew stronger, he prepared to leave again, this time with a proper packing and a proper farewell, on a journey that took him closer to God and closer to God’s plan for His life.

As all the littles grew, the joyful one misplaced his joy again, misplaced who he was to God and to the family. One day, he packed his treasures, a table and a bed – and moved to a place he didn’t need to be.

The older brother, who’d so worried about him all those many years ago, who’d say, ‘Mama – aren’t you going to fetch him home,” who thought he’d go past Ms Judy’s mailbox, had found his bearings and in the finding made a home near the little house in the woods – he came to his mother, worrying, “Tell him to come home, Mom. He doesn’t need to be there.”

His mother stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of something good, looked up at him, this boy who towered over her now, gave him a wry smile that contained sadness for the one who’d left and joy for the one who’d returned, saying, “Remember when you left? Telling you that you needed to come home only made you stay longer. The less I say, the sooner he will be home.”

The brother who’d lost his joy for a while, misplaced who he was to God and his family – one day, he remembered, and in the remembering, came home to the growing old house at the edge of the woods with his treasures, his table, and a bed.

In the growing older house in the woods by the creek, he grew stronger, reclaimed a bit of his joy and who He was to God and his family. Refreshed, he started hearing the call of the Father – until one day, he properly packed a bag, received a proper farewell, and set out on a journey past Ms. Judy’s mailbox on a God-designed journey just for him.

The Story after the Story

Some children launch by the book – and other children launch by, well, the other book – the one we don’t want to buy, the story we don’t want to read. It’s the hard story. It’s the story full of heart-aches so deep you know your soul has toes – it’s that deep.  It’s also a faith story, a story of redemption. It’s the dirt, grit and grime of the story that nobody wants to touch. A lot of people might want to talk about it – but they don’t want to touch it – with their hearts, with their prayer, with their faith.

It’s the dirt of rebellion, the grit of selfishness and the grime of sin that Salvation leaned down into, grabbed it by the filthy arms and pulled it up, took it on a journey, journeying along, and in the journeying along, washed the stains, the filth, the grit away. Salvation fixed the brokenness, both deserved and undeserved – until, somewhere in the journey, a new man was born again.

Sometimes, this happens because a mama somewhere loved enough to let go – and let God.

Think of Hannah who took an itty bitty Samuel to the temple, and let go of his hand – and let God.

Think of Manoah’s wife had to let go of a rebellious son – and let God redeem him.

and Jochebed who let go of the bulrush basket holding her son – and let God.

or Rebekah who stirred up a mess and sent Jacob away from home, who let go – and let God.

Today, I want to pray for those mama’s, whose children are taking the hard way. I want to pray that God bring them a peace beyond understanding that He’s got this. This is His job now – what He does best – work His saving grace in places we cannot.

I pray that in the letting go, you don’t feel as if you given up, quit before the job is done, didn’t love enough. I pray that you see that you love enough to let God, that you didn’t quit – just that your task is complete. For now, you’ve done what you’re supposed to do. Now it’s time to let God.

I pray that you realize the greatest love we can give someone is to sometimes let them go – even into uncomfortable situations.  I pray that when you wrestle with trusting God that His determination to save your child is greater than the devil’s determination to destroy your child – I pray that you tell God you’re struggling with this trusting and believing because sometimes the right-now really hurts, really doesn’t look like it can come about right. He won’t get mad or be disappointed. He’ll love on you, comfort you. I pray that you ask Him to stand with you, to hold you close – because He is the kind of God that can save another while holding you, too.

I pray that you have dreams of salvation coming instead of nightmares. I pray that you find God messages in the daily, of God’s sweet encouragement that He has joy planned for you – and for the ones you love. I pray that He give you glimpses of who He created your child to be.

I pray that He surround you with people who believe that God’s got this – and I pray that He will surround you and your child with people who pray faith, pray love, pray hope until both you and your child are stirred in it, simmering in it, suffused with it, like a pot of good things on a loving mama’s stove-top.


Herron12015_edited-1“If you are not firm in faith,
you will not be firm at all” Isaiah 7:9b

A few weeks ago, my husband and I got up early to hike to the waterfalls. I took my camera – and my sweet husband is so patient with that. My camera makes me slow down and see what God has for me – the blessings He leaves for me in the daily.

I stood across from this herron for a while – well, I literally stalked the herron. When I turned away to take other pictures, he seemed so disappointed to have lost his audience that he flourished his plummage for me. It was as though he wanted to recapture my attention – and he did.

The trip to the falls gave me a twinge of guilt, though. So does coffee with friends. So does the cardinal darting in front of me. How can I enjoy the blessing God leaves for me when the world is set with fires?

I’ve been silent on my blog about what’s going on in the world lately – silent on the shootings going on in communities, silent on the lack of honesty/integrity/God-principles in government, silent on words being redefined – words like marriage and is, and silent on the horror of babies brutally killed and dismembered in what God designed to be the safest place of all – a mother’s womb.

I’ve always wondered how the German people remained silent in a country systematically murdering its Jewish population. Maybe it was the threat that they would be murdered, too – but that doesn’t make silence right – silence for self-preservation at the expense of others.

There’s a lot of judging, a lot of tossing around about privilege – who has it, who doesn’t – and the stench of it – because that is the intent of the label – to make one feel like they stink somehow, that they are tainted, not good-enough, their faith and Jesus in them not good enough.

I’ve wondered what I am to do in the midst of so much going wrong. I vote for those whose who stay they are going to restore – and they don’t. I volunteer.  My husband and I shepherd our family to love all people, pray for those who struggle, to stand up for their beliefs and protect the hurting. I try to Jesus-love those who cross my path – because I realize that those are the ones God gave me to encourage. I even try to expand that path into out of the way places.

I don’t know how to address all this. I don’t know how to fix all this. I’m tempted to try to put all the fires out – running from one fire to another, throwing on debate, ideology and fight like water. Running around in circles trying to put out all the fires is ineffective, though. You know how it is – when you try to do everything, you end up achieving nothing, to a chorus of people telling you that you’re doing it all wrong?

All I can do is all I’m called to do: To love the Lord God with all my heart, mind and soul. To love my neighbor as myself – and to stand firm in faith to the one who created me.

I stand firm in who I am to Him:

I am the daughter to His father.

I am the sister my brother died for.

I am the lost sheep the shepherd left all others to search for.

I am the beloved bride.

With great position comes great responsibilities – this being a daughter of the King is not a cushion-sitting, hand-waving-from-a-balcony kind-of-job. It’s hands-on, heart-to-heart kind-of-job that can be both uncomfortable and liberating.

Go find my sheep, he says – and I go.

Love your neighbor – and I try to find a way, whether it is through words or actions.

To those shaken by the storms, I am to bring them to him, to tuck them beneath the warmth and security of His wing.

Sometimes, I am to just stand with another as they wait for the eagles to lift them out of their battle.

I must always be ready to share the living water, like a glass over-flowing, with I meet on the daily path.

Love makes a feast out of want, sits with the sinners and tells about how much God loves them, cleans out the temple in righteous anger, champions those who cannot fight for themselves.

As He has counted the hairs on my head, so am I to know and care for others, to value them as He values me. – even those living as orphans who don’t realize their father is looking for them.

No – I don’t know how to fix the heart-breaking wrongs going on today. All I can do is to stand firm in faith – of his promises, his commission, and who we both are to him.

Firm faith prevents us from running around like a chicken with its head off. Firm faith gives direction when the world shouts, “Fire.” Firm faith gives peace of who we are to Him in a world that accuses us of being who we aren’t.

As the world, the nation, our communities struggle today with right and wrong, with justice and injustice  – as people argue and point fingers, accusing you of being someone you aren’t, receive the blessings God leaves in the daily – welcome them, rejoice in them and stand firm in who you are – stand firm and love – it’s never wrong. It never fails. It brings hope a world catching fire.

One upon a time, long ago, where blue grass grew in Main Street America, and front porch swings were a safe place to watch life go by, I packed my bags, folded up my new cobalt blue comforter with Dogwood Rose colored flowers to go out in the world and, if not meet my destiny, then hunt it down like a terrior unleashed who finds the world so big that sometimes it is hard to figure which way to go.

My comforter was there through my college career, wrapped around me as I studied, worked on projects, or just needed a comfort moment.  In a college dorm room, bedding is the primary décor statement (wall décor second).  My Cobalt blue comforter with its Dogwood Rose colored flowers symbolized my boldness – no weak, thinned out blue pastel or wall flower pink – no – I was going to shape my future to my dreams – Cobalt blue spoke strength, determination, adventure.

Three years later, I stepped further into my future.  My spirit gentled.  My new comforter was Shabby Chic White with faint slashes of tea green and misty rose.  My fading Cobalt Blue comforter, now Carolina Blue found itself folded over a chair for cuddling on the couch or naps.

Until my son was born. The blue seemed to brighten with a renewed vitality. Thrown on the floor, it provided a soft place to fall. As morning wore on, sleepiness pulling both of us, we’d wrap the blue around and fall into the snuggly Kingdom of Nap.

When he turned 2, I decorated his Big Boy Room.  He picked out a Snoopy Quilt with a blue background for his Big Boy Bed.  During nap time one afternoon, when he was just 3, he dragged his blanket into my room, setting it on my bed.  “I think you should have this blanket, Mom.  It’s so much nicer.  I’ll let you have it,” he said as he slowly inched my fading into stone washed Corn Silk blue blanket over his shoulders and backed out of the room. “I’ll just take this one since you won’t be needing it now that you have my nice Snoopy blanket.”

And there began a back and forth, a sneak and take for a few years until it just stayed in his room, wrapped around him during sleep, snuggly time, movie time, and, yes, even spend the night time.  Time faded the blanket to periwinkle.  Not all the seams were there. That blanket went with him to college, all faded and full of memories. The pink had washed to a leached out white.

One day, he brought The Girl home, the girl who would be his wife.  They set a date.  Then, one Christmas, six months before the wedding, he came home with his blanket and left it behind. The faded blue blanket just lay there. . . . .

 Until one day, my 3rd son picked it up, wrapped it around himself, and wandered off with it to snuggle into sleep, watch a movie, or read, even on overnight sleepovers – terribly faded, terribly worn, terribly loved –

(I had to wrestle it away to take a picture).

More on the journey of the blue cotton blanket: Change Comes Quietly

and The Blanket Thief Strikes Again

mockingbird_edited-1“Consider the ravens [mocking bird]:
They do not sow or reap,
they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them.
And how much more valuable you are
than birds!”
(Luke 12:24)

He never forgets


Say it!

Choose to believe it!

You are not forgotten!

You are deeply loved!

To believe is to have


Believe how


you are to


Worms for mocking birds

storehouses for you



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