When I am depressed, I cannot move. And right now, as I write this, six days have passed since I felt myself falling into it. The problem is placed. What, I wonder, must the solution be? What must I do when I cannot move?
Made from the rib of man, made by God to cleave to man, you are all soft insides and secret smiles and loud laughter. You beautiful, coveted creature, I beg you: do not make yourself less. You are made for more.
Your high school best friend was the first person to validate sadness for you— to ascertain its existence, its being.
Constrained by the pressures of life and learning, I feel as if I have no time at all to write. Shackled to my responsibilities, tethered by my moral belief that I have to do my responsibilities, I cannot write.
Who you are and how busy you are should not be an impediment to your honoring God. We can honor God even while we do our laundry.
Today, while I was grocery shopping, I saw an old man buying his own.
7 APR 18. Rain. It’s raining, and it’s beautiful. I’m driving down the streets of my hometown, and the neon signs were glowing like fairy lights. Blurred by the raindrops and the glass, they seemed to shimmer. Dipolog looked unreal at that moment, and I wanted to remember it that way forever.
Around two thousand years ago, Jesus Christ, God incarnate, was born. The specific date is now lost in time— the casualty of an archaic calendar system. Suffice to say, around the coldest point of the year, a boy was born in a manger. They named him Emmanuel: “God with us.” I wonder what it was […]
Don’t read this. It’s poison for your soul– but it cleansed mine in the writing of it. I rather you not be contaminated by the toxicity.
The world is full of liars, self, of voices that speak falsely. Take heed, for often the liar is you.