Rather than be filled with fear, I want to hide in the cleft of the Rock, I want to take shelter beneath His wings, I want to run to Him to make Him my strong tower, my fortress. How do I do that?
A poem about the diagnosis that changed everything.
Another poem about that one word.
Strands of keratin. They slide between my fingers and I think-- Where were we, Love, when this small space at the end of the lengths were new, emerging like buds of Spring from scalp and skin?
C. S. Lewis once said, "Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one.'"