It’s been a hard day and I really don’t want to do anything other than what I’ve been doing the past three hours: lying in bed.
However, this blog-journal-thing, is giving me something my writing muscles have desperately needed, and that is: a sense of accountability.
I’m still lying in bed, don’t worry. I can do this from such a horizontal posture.
—
Think on the following thought with me,
because I’m kind of dying,
and you guys should probably know if you care enough to be reading this.
Perhaps as we step into purpose, we die to the past. Present purpose holds no place for past scars of the earth to remain. This is a garden of restoration. Not preservation.
So in a few minutes I’ll get out of bed and make dinner. I suppose I’ll be exactly then who I’m supposed to be, but right now, writing horizontally, I am who I am.
And I could cry because my chest longs so badly for Eden.
Did I mention my woman is womaning?
Eden before the fall, let me specify.
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