the initial wound gapes numb unbleeding after the shock anguish pouring pain before too long faintness clots hope after a while scabbed triggers healing in time scar numb again breathe
Do you have a moment, sir; could you tell me a story? I can see at least one held captive in your eye If you have a moment, ma'am, I'd like to hear a little of the storms that traced the lines where my cheek is still smooth Tell me, sir, of a day that one white hair stands for and most of all I want to know what kept that twinkle in your eye Please tell me, ma'am, how you're still smiling though you've known pain and heartbreak so much longer than I have Was it easier to let go the tenth time? Do you ever get used to being lonely? When I've seen as much as you, I want to rejoice as well as you do. Will you teach me how to grow old?
Our Father, In these strange and uncertain times we see you, and we see that you are a God of both holy anger and of tender mercy. We thought we were in control, working to make our businesses profitable and fill our leisure hours with activities that felt fulfilling. We are reminded, as we erase appointments and sign up for Zoom accounts, that man plans his way but you establish our steps. We are reminded that there is much we don’t know, didn’t anticipate, and is in your hands and not ours. You hear the discussion, oh Lord, about what the right measures to take are. Only a few of us need to decide the steps that will be enforced. Please help these few to be wise in the face of a million unknowns, and please help us to fear you and honor the magistrates (whether we agree with their orders or not.) Help us to love our neighbor. To think of the elderly and those who live alone, to text or write or call or video chat, to share our toilet paper, to spend some money at the s
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