Tag Archives: Prayer

May 8, 2026 · 4:00 AM

A Daughter’s Reflection

Mama:

She wasn’t the kind of woman people called strong.

She didn’t command a room or always make the wisest choices. She didn’t have the steady confidence I sometimes envied in other mothers.

My mama was flawed in ways that showed. Tender in places where life had been anything but gentle. And somehow, without either of us planning it, I became the strong one.

I stepped into that role way too young, long before I knew what it meant. A role never meant for a daughter, let alone a child. I became her steady ground. Her confidant. Her shield. And slowly, quietly, I started mothering my own mama.

I learned to read her eyes and knew when she was hurt or afraid. I carried feelings too heavy for a child to hold. I filled in gaps I didn’t even have words for yet. My childhood ended before it really got started.

And yet, it shaped me. It made me responsible. Watchful. Tougher than I wanted to be. But it also left me tired in ways I wouldn’t understand until years later.

Still … she was my mama. And I loved her. We all did.

Love doesn’t always grow where it’s supposed to. Sometimes it pushes through the hardest places and blooms anyway. Because God knows how to make something beautiful out of what’s been broken. Mama may not have modeled the kind of strength others admire. But she gave me something deeper without meaning to: space to find my own strength. I learned to recognize fragility up close. A kind of empathy I had to discover on my own. And grit, because someone had to hold the line. And when mine ran out, I learned to lean on God.

Loving a parent who couldn’t fully be there for you is a tender, kind of tangled ache. It isn’t resentment or blame. It’s a quiet knowing. I always knew she loved me, and she knew I loved her. And I believe she did the best she could with what she had. Even if what she had fell short. What she couldn’t give, God supplied. He filled the gaps with His grace, His presence, and the way He kept showing up for me.

Mama had six of us. She was ours—flawed, fragile, human, and deeply loved. She wasn’t perfect, and neither was I. But we were perfect for each other.

Missing her today reminds me that even fragile love can grow into something good in God’s hands. What she couldn’t give, God provided. It didn’t happen overnight. In the places that felt unfinished, God planted healing, resilience, and a deeper faith. I wouldn’t know this kind of faith without that journey.

It may not be everyone’s story. But it’s mine. And it shaped me.

If you’re missing someone complicated and imperfect today, I hope you feel seen. Love doesn’t have to be flawless to shape us.

I’m missing my mama today.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama. I’m still here because of you—

carrying the grit you placed in me,

held by God’s grace,

with a heart full of memories.

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April 25, 2026 · 10:24 AM

When God Says No

There was a season in my life where I kept praying for the same thing.

I thought if I just kept praying, if I kept believing, God would fix it.

I believed He would change the situation.
That things would turn around.

I didn’t understand why; out of everything, why not this?

From where I stood, it made sense.
It didn’t feel wrong.
It felt good… worth fighting for.

People say in moments like that, maybe you didn’t have enough faith!

But I know what I carried.
I know how deeply I believed.

What I didn’t know then
was how much I was asking God to sustain something
that was quietly undoing me.

I couldn’t see how tightly I was holding on
to something already causing harm.

All I felt was silence.

But it wasn’t silence.

God was still working,
just not in the way I wanted or expected.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. — Isaiah 55:8

He had something better.
I couldn’t see it yet.

There are things I once cried over
that I’m now grateful didn’t happen.

That’s not easy to admit.

Because those prayers were real.
I meant every word.

But now I understand.

Some things aren’t meant to be fixed.
Some things are meant to end.
Some things are meant to change us.

Sometimes God says no
because He sees what we don’t.

We hold onto things
He’s trying to release us from.

And when the answer doesn’t come the way we hoped,
it can feel like absence, like distance,
like He isn’t there at all.

But He is.
He always is.

If you’re there right now—
still praying, still waiting, still wondering …

I understand.

I’ve been there.

And one day, with time and clarity,
you may see what once felt like silence
for what it truly was:

Not rejection.
But protection.

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July 16, 2024 · 6:04 AM

In the Eye of the Storm

This has been a week of swirling events that boggle the mind.

I never liked hurricanes from my childhood days growing up in Miami. As an adult living in Houston, I certainly didn’t want them now.

We prepared for the anticipated Hurricane Beryl to cross our path. We filled our vehicles with gas. We went grocery shopping for water and all the necessities while supplies last. My husband filled our portable generator and several oil lanterns with fuel. We hunkered down, determined to make the best of the situation.

On Mon, July 8th, Hurricane Beryl made landfall around 3:30 a.m. The pelting rain on the windows woke us. She was a Category 1 storm with 80-mph damaging winds and beating down hard. In no time, the roads flooded and we had tornado warnings. At least 3 people were reported dead from this detrimental storm. Sure enough, we had a power outage. I looked at the time: 6:14 am. Thank goodness, my husband soon cranked up the generator. That generator kept both refrigerators running, the TV, a couple of fans, and my computer for work. Thankfully, our internet never went down.

That afternoon, we assessed our property for damages. Besides tree branches and leaves scattered across the backyard, our roof and wooden fence remained intact. We gladly helped a neighbor in two ways. We kept their meat in our freezer. We also charged their phone charger every day. Our gas stove cooked warm meals, and we used oil lanterns for light in the evenings.

When evening came, it was still cool enough from the heat. I opened the windows as I continued to work from home with a small fan blowing on me. But with each passing hour, the heat intensified, becoming an unwelcome distant cousin of Hurricane Beryl. Thank God for being able to take cool showers!

Over 2.4 million people were left without power. By Tuesday morning, 100% of the rain had come down, which meant we had to close the windows. We knew this delayed CenterPoint Energy from restoring our power. I tried to stay upbeat, but truthfully, I became irritable, gripping, and listless.

By day three, with our power still out, I drove to the office, as their power had been fully restored. I drove through my neighborhood that morning. I was flabbergasted to see all the debris, fallen branches, and uprooted trees. One tree had toppled over a house in my subdivision! My heart went out to that family. I realized that no matter the circumstances, it can always be worse. I asked the Lord to help me weather the aftermath of this storm.

Saturday – day six, and still no power. I was thankful for our ongoing generator. I worked half a day from home. I prepared a meal in the crockpot and relaxed in my recliner. I sat near the bedroom window to watch a Netflix series. Later that evening, my son ran in saying that Trump had been shot. My heart skipped a beat as I turned on the news. We remained glued to the TV. We watched and re-watched the horrific attempted assassination of former President Donald Trump. It happened at a campaign rally in Pennsylvania. The time was approximately 7:15 pm CDT.

Trump dodged a bullet when he turned his head at just the right moment. This resulted only in nicking his upper right ear. This was a close call – I believe – an act of divine intervention. God is not finished with him yet. The Secret Service rushed Trump off the stage into the SUV. He showed remarkable resiliency, courage, and strength. He encouraged the crowds cheering for him at the rally.

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1

We are not promised tomorrow. We can only live for today and strive to do our best with what we have been entrusted with. We all come from different walks of life. As a Christian, I certainly don’t have all the answers; in fact, I am left with more questions about today. The Bible says, “It rains on the just and unjust.” I know that my God is still on the throne. Nothing takes Him by surprise.

I thought about God’s protection and what being in the eye of the storm meant. There are many storms in this life. Storms can be so intense. If you let them, they’ll shake you to the core and rob you of your peace. They’ll take away your joy and even your sanity. May we learn to trust in the One who calms the seas and the storms, and rest in Him.

I am happy to report that a little past 8:00 p.m. on that same Saturday night, the power came back. Oh, and it returned to our area. This definitely was one emotionally taxing six days, and I am forever grateful this chapter is behind us.

“In order to realize the worth of the anchor, we need to feel the stress of the storm.” Corrie ten Boom

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February 28, 2024 · 2:51 PM

Mrs. C

We affectionately called her Mrs. C. In her six­ties, with remarkable zeal, she possessed a charisma and a gregarious personality. She was a Bible teacher, an author, a missionary, a powerhouse, and a woman of great faith. She exuded genuine friendship in a Godly persona and took me under her wings. She held many prayer meetings in her home. Often, she prostrated herself on the floor on her face, interceding on behalf of others. She became my lifesaver, my spiritual mother. I counted on her for spiritual advice and much-needed counseling throughout the years.

On one dreary afternoon, the sky, along with my hope and faith, grew overcast. Suffering from battle fatigue, I sat in Mrs. C’s den. I told her I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

“I can’t take it anymore,” I confessed, wringing my hands.

Patiently, unassuming, and non-judgmental, Mrs. C handed me a tissue and gave me time to release the dread and pain in my heart.

“I’ve tried everything. Done all I know to do. Yet nothing seems good enough.”

“Has he stopped hitting you?”

I sighed, much relieved that he had. “Oh, yes.”

“Mary Ann, you know he loves you, in his own way,” she began, “but you have become ‘weary in well-doing.’ In your mind’s eye, you’ve conceded it’s not worth it.”

She honed in on my sentiments. I hung my head in shame.

“You know,” she insisted, “it is worth it all.”

At that moment, I wished I were stronger and smarter and that Mrs. C wasn’t so wise and couldn’t read me so well. “But shouldn’t this be a two-way street?” I suggested.

“Are you and the kids better off without him?”

I figured she knew the answer before I did. “We . . . we have nowhere else to go.”

“Are you better off without him?” she repeated and handed me the tissue box.

“I can’t afford to do anything else.”

“Are you better off without him?”

No,” I whispered and wiped my nose.

I felt weak and inadequate as a Christian wife. I struggled to keep a measure of peace and sanity in my household with four children. I was also tending to a man wrestling with his demons.

“Then, go home and be the best wife and mother you know how to be,” she said.

Sometimes, it’s easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk.

“But first,” she added, “I want to pray for you.”

That woman knew how to enter the Throne Room of God in her prayers. Electricity surged through my entire body when she touched me as she prayed. Before I left, she handed me her book, Wives, Unequally Yoked. I figured reading couldn’t hurt; plus, the title intrigued me. I’d already devoured The Total Woman, by Marabel Morgan. Much like my Bible, the pages were worn and underlined with a yellow marker.

I didn’t leave Mrs. C’s company the same way I arrived. Resolved in my heart not to become bitter, I determined to be better and left strengthened, with a made-up mind.

Excerpt from “Running in Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace,” Chapter 35

I’ve always felt that Mrs. C was my person, who soon became like a spiritual mother to me. I went to her broken and wounded. She never made me feel less than. She believed in the best for me and all God had to offer. This lady was full of wisdom and knew how to bombard heaven on your behalf! How I miss our intimate conversations.
{Mary Anne Copelin: Aug. 30, 1926 — Dec. 4, 2017}

Additional mentioned about Mrs. C here — Saying Goodbye For Now

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February 25, 2024 · 2:07 PM

My Friend, My Sister ~ an Answered Prayer

Again, left alone, I had no one to share my heart with. I regretted that I never stayed in touch with old classmates. I also regretted that I never finished school. It’s what he wanted. Although I had advanced to the tenth grade, I never went back, relying solely on Donny’s moral and finan­cial support. I regretted that, too.

I felt my prayers answered the day a neighbor knocked on our door. I recognized her instantly. At last, someone my own age to talk to.

She was not much older than me. She was a friendly sort with deep-set, café con leche eyes. She had long espresso hair and a tan complexion. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt. The warmth of her smile cast away my shadows. Liz sold Avon. Even though I doubted I’d be able to buy any of her products, I welcomed her company.

While Donny was engrossed in TV, she and I visited at the dining room table. We had coffee and slices of block cheddar cheese. We chatted about makeup and the latest perfume. After an hour, she dug deep when she peered into my eyes and asked, “Mary, do you know Jesus?”

“Well . . . I . . . I used to . . . as a kid,” I stuttered and hung my head.

She reminded me of God’s love, goodness, and grace.

Liz was my neighbor who soon became my sounding board and best friend. She made me laugh and forget my troubles. She made suggestions about hair and makeup. We went window-shopping at the malls, grocery shopping, and baked cakes together in her kitchen. Liz even introduced me to garage sale hunting on weekends. We started reading our Bibles over coffee at her place in the mornings. This happened after our husbands left for work. Her older kids had already trotted to school by then. Our preschool girls were close in age and enjoyed playing with each other.

Donny never said too much about Liz, which was fine by me. He once labeled her a “Jesus freak.” He usually made himself scarce whenever she came around, which was also fine by me.

Before long, I started sitting in on Bible studies, which Liz held with other couples in her apartment. Eventually, I attended her small church. I felt a sense of belonging there. The serenity was something I hadn’t known since living with my grandparents. I longed to return to the God of my grandparents. However, I needed to overcome the stinking-thinking about myself. I never felt worthy enough; may as well have worn a sign over me that read: Deflated, Dejected and Discouraged.

After our devotions in the mornings, Liz led prayer. She prayed that I’d learn to “let go and let God.” I wasn’t sure how to “let go,” let alone move on. Then, before closing our devotions, she always asked what my prayer requests were.

“I can’t stand Jerry . . . he’s a moron,” I blurted one day. “When he’s around, Donny drinks more. Jerry and him go bar-hopping and get into fights with other drunken bozos.”

“What do you want God to do?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe Jerry needs to take a long walk on a short pier or something.”

She smiled.

I felt foolish.

She then asked if I had ever asked God to sever Donny and Jerry’s friendship. I never thought about praying that way. She said she believed we needed to be a family in the privacy of our home. We needed to avoid negative interference from an outsider.

A woman of simple faith, Liz started praying for that specifically.

Weak in my faith, I hoped against hope.

One autumn day, as the temperatures fell and the eve­ning grew chilly, Jerry wanted “female companionship.” He borrowed my Plymouth Duster. He drove more than a thousand miles from Houston to Denver to get that companionship. Once there, he landed in jail, and the police impounded my car. Weeks later, Donny paid someone in Denver. This person got my vehicle out of impound. Donny then drove it back home.

Coincidentally—or by divine intervention—we never heard from Jerry again.

{Except from Running In Heels: A Memoir of Grit and Grace, Chapter 23}

Side Note:

The day I located my friend Liz on FaceBook and contacted her, joy flooded my heart. She lives out of town and drove through after attending a conference; we reunited at a local diner. We played catch-up over a glass of iced tea. We talked about the present, and before long, reminisced about the past, some thirty-plus years ago.

“I never expected anyone to come to my apartment. I certainly didn’t anticipate someone trying to sell me some Avon or to talk about Jesus.”

“Mary Ann, I had to come over,” Liz said, her eyes growing misty. “I used to hear you and Donny argue. Every time you two fought, I heard everything. I even used to hear him hit you … then to hear you crying.”

“I didn’t know that.” I glanced away and watched water droplets slide silently down my glass, like my tears so long ago.

“Whenever I heard the fights,” Liz continued, “I would lay my hands on the walls. I prayed for you. Then my husband would tell me to get away from there and to mind my own business.”

I studied my friend from long ago. “Well, I’m so glad you made me your business. When I needed a friend, you were there.”

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October 10, 2022 · 5:08 PM

On Borrowed Time

How time flies.

We’ve been caring for Mama in our home for the past 3 years. After spending the holidays with us as she usually did, she never returned to her apartment. Hubby and I noticed how frail she had become. We both realized she would need more assistance. She had been getting less help when living on her own.

We do what we have to.

Our adult daughter, who also lives with us, is a tremendous help and caregiver for Mom, as well. My husband and I work full-time. Even with care providers checking in on Mom weekly, my daughter fills in the gap. She does more than expected.

Last year, after her doctor’s visit and blood work results, Mom’s doctor ordered that she be admitted to the hospital. Her blood pressure and blood count were dangerously low! During her four-night stay, she received two units of blood and an iron infusion. She returned home with her energy and appetite back! A year later, in August, it happened again – she was hospitalized and released. Soon after, I got a medical POA. The episode occurred again a month later. Thankfully, Mom agreed this time to have an endoscopy procedure instead of coming home.

She had a mass in her stomach.

The dreaded cancer.

We cried, reminisced, and prayed.

Dr. Solomon would be Mom’s surgeon. We prayed nonstop for this physician and observed how he used wisdom in dealing with Mom’s delicate procedure beforehand. We placed our trust in him, knowing that the God we served–the Great Physician–was in control.

On the day of surgery, my husband and children joined me. As they wheeled her off to surgery, I saw flecks of fear swimming in her eyes. I hoped she found strength in mine, although my heart was heavy. You see, I became that little girl again. And I cried out to her, “Momma, come back to me!”

We waited in the waiting area for half a day. Her surgery was over. She was already in the Post-Opt room. The good news is that cancer did not seem to have spread to any other area in her body. However, they removed 80% of her stomach.

Mama remained in ICU for a couple of days and then moved to a private room. I stayed with her as much as possible. I spent the night with her often. I gave her my love and support every chance I got. We have always had a complex relationship. She and I have had challenges. But no matter what, she is still my mama. I will always be her little girl. ( To read more of my journey, click here… )

Today is Mama’s 88th birthday. Yesterday, Sunday, the family joined us to celebrate her life, surrounding her with our love and prayers. We wore matching T-shirts to honor her. I wanted her to feel our love and let her know how special she is. She is the matriarch of the family.

Today, Mom is being moved to Rehab for a few weeks for therapy and to become stronger. We continue to wait for the final pathology report. We trust the Lord will complete the work He has started in her. She is in His hands.

Life is fleeting. Let go of the petty things. Treasure your loved ones while they are still around.

I am comforted in knowing that when I am weak, my God is strong. His grace is sufficient for me! Thank you, Lord, that your mercies are new every morning. Thank you, Lord, for another day.

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December 16, 2020 · 10:22 PM

Road Less Traveled…my truth

This has been a challenging year for all. I never imagined I would be alive in a time like this. The events occurring these days are astonishing! Many are left shocked, confused, and angry, and some have lost their ever-loving minds over worry, paralyzed in fear!

Is it not true every day we have to make choices? Do we not decide daily on what actions to take? How are we going to react? I for one believe in the power of prayer. Prayer brings results. But I don’t doubt there are days when our prayers cry out, “God, are you there? Are you listening?”

He is. And He does.

I do not pretend to have all the answers. I am flawed. I am an imperfect being trying to serve a perfect God. His ways are higher than my ways. As a Christian, I am not immune to the happenings of this world. Family and dear friends have experienced illnesses. Some are due to COVID. They have faced setbacks because of circumstances beyond their control. They have also endured hurtful disappointments because, well, we’re humans.

In Robert Frost’s poem The Road Less Taken, towards the end, he mentions the road less traveled. I want to be on that road. What does that mean exactly? I’m sure it means different things to different people.

For me, the road less traveled is to be on the road of steadfastness. It means not faltering or leaning on my own understanding. I want to be on the road less traveled. I want to be collected and in my right frame of mind. When much confusion lies before me, I feel overwhelmed. At times, I may stumble. I might not know what to do. Still, I want to be on the road less traveled in my prayer closet. I prefer this instead of bickering and complaining.

Someone, please show me the road less traveled—to trust in God instead of doubting Him. Guide me to the road less traveled. Help me believe it is well with my soul. Help me trust in the best yet to come. Point me to the road less traveled. I want to be free from the weight of the world. Keep its troubles off my shoulders.

I want to walk in faith and not in fear. Sing and not scream. Be tender and not hardened. Pliable and not crushed. Teachable and not a know-it-all.

These are my truths, what I hope to achieve someday. I don’t want to follow the crowd of ‘woe is me!’ Instead, I will listen in humbled silence. I will hearken to the still small voice that beckons me to be still and know that He is God.

 Whenever I approach the two roads of life, I want to look heavenward. I want to take the road less traveled. That choice has made all the difference.

landscape photography of forest

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August 23, 2020 · 1:29 PM

In the Midst of the Storm

Hurricane Cleo struck Miami with 100-mile-per-hour winds in late August 1964. Fallen branches and debris flew across the yard. The pelting rain rattled against our old wooden door and the thin, sheet glass-pane windows.

My stepdad, Jimmy placed a dresser against the front door to our efficiency apartment to keep it from flying open. Mama and I hunkered down in the dark bathroom like cornered animals. I sat on the floor with my knees pulled up. I covered my ears with my hands. I tried to drown out the deafening gusts of wind. My mama’s panicking cries also filled the air.

In the same instant that I closed my eyes, thoughts tumbled through my mind. I thought, Gosh, today is my birthday. I am five years old. Mama said I’m a ‘big girl’ now.

________________________________________________________

In the year 1969, a powerful storm struck ten days before my tenth birthday. It was the second most intense hurricane on record to hit the United States. Hurricane Camille, a Category 5, had all of South Florida feeling her wrath.

My step-daddy, Mama, and I took shelter in the gymnasium of Miami Edison High School. Many people talked in loud voices. Confused and frightened children fussed and cried. They clung to their mama’s skirts and their daddy’s necks to ride out the storm.

I sat on a floor mat, glancing around. I clutched my raggedy doll and our meager chow in a sack. Inside, there was a single loaf of Wonder Bread and a jar of Welch’s Grape Jelly. When My step-daddy suggested that I offer some to another girl close by, I recoiled. You see, even in normal times, sharing food wasn’t so easy for me.

Comfort and tranquility were as far away from me as the moon. They blew past like shingles from the roofs of so many homes. Those homes felt Camille’s fury.

The above are excerpts of my memoir. Even after all these years later, I still get a bit skittish during rainstorms, let alone hurricanes. Me no like, and as you can see, have never liked them.

Currently, the National Hurricane Center forecast are saying–not one but–two storms are brewing in the Gulf of Mexico! What if they collide with each other and spin around each other, becoming one? This Texas Two-Step is known as a Fujiwhara effect. Go figure!

My heart and prayers go out to all those affected by these storms; whatever type of storm they may be: sickness, trials, trouble, distress, turmoil, heartache or pressure. This is not easy for everyone–me included–but may I encourage you to allow God to give you peace in the midst of the storms.

I am reminded what scripture says: Isaiah 26:3-4: “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You; because he trusts in You. Trust in the Lord forever: for in the Lord Jehovah is everlasting strength.” 

 

 

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June 27, 2020 · 12:44 PM

I Cry

Usually, tears bring me to write. Something that touches my very core. Something that moves me. Something that triggers passion, or emotion – a memory, a thought, an image, or a prayer.

Lately, I’ve been silent. Silent in writing. My drive for writing once ignited with words and expression within the depth of my soul had to be released by putting pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, now nebulous and dim from what it once was.

I admit this year has brought about shock, uncertainties, and even dread. My tears flow. Lord, what has happened? God, what is happening?

America: land of the free and brave! Are you still among us?

I sang as a child:

America! America! God shed his grace on thee,

And crown thy good with brotherhood

From sea to shining sea.

And:

This land is your land. This land is my land
From the California, to the New York Island
From the Redwood Forest, to the Gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me.

Who can forget singing proudly in school with friends:

Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.

Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.

With God as our Father, brothers all are we …

 

Lord, I can’t speak for others. No one can walk in my shoes. I certainly cannot walk in their shoes, nor would I want to. We all have our own crosses to bear. But please lift this burden from off of us and lighten the load, I pray. You are a God who is able. But even if You chose not to make the pathway easier, or the roads brighter, then help us as individuals and help us as a nation to allow You to be God again in our lives, at home and abroad, and within our own families.

I chose You, Lord. Whether I understand things or not, whatever tomorrow may bring, I know that I need You more now than before — and that has not changed. Your Word says there is a season for everything under the sun. Although I am not liking the season we are in right now, I know that You’re not a God of confusion but of peace, for You are merciful and Your love never-ending.

Humility, respect, order, and compassion are all it takes. Heal us, oh, Lord. We are sick, we need a healer. Please heal our hearts. Please heal our land.

“It is the LORD who goes before you.

He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you.

Do not fear or be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8

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April 4, 2020 · 9:34 AM

Then Came the Morning

Brokenhearted . . .
How can I bear the pain?
So many plans . . . permanently interrupted.
So many dreams . . . shattered.
Hopes . . . dashed.
All gone.
Why?
Why this?
Why us? Why me?
Helplessness . . . hopelessness . . .
Life will never be the same again.
Is it even worth living?
Where are you, God?

I’m right here beside you, my child.
Even though you may not feel my presence,
I’m holding you close under the shadow of my wings.
I will walk with you through this dark night.

Do not shrink from weeping.
I gave you tears for emotional release.
Don’t try to hide your grief.
Let it become for you a source of healing,
A process of restoration,
For I have planned it so.
Those who mourn shall be blessed.
I’ll be holding on to you,
Even when you feel you can’t hold on to me.

Seek my face, child of mine.
Receive my promise, impossible as it may seem now,
That joy will come in the morning.
It may take much time,
But I will heal your broken heart.
I know the night seems endless,
but MORNING WILL COME.
I have promised.

–From the Haven of Rest Newsletter

Note: I came across the above poem some time ago, and wanted to share it with my readers. So many times we can’t see the light because of so much fear, darkness, despair, grief, and pain. We wonder how long? How much more? When will it end? God, are you really there? Friends, please know that as long as you have a pulse, there is a purpose. As long as you have breath, there is hope. And as long as you’re in your right mind, there are possibilities. Under the shadow of His wings, stay the course. One day at a time. Full speed ahead!

Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

EASTER IS AROUND THE CORNER – THAT HASN’T BEEN CANCELLED.

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