I’ve been sick for the past few days. To tell the story of my sickness I have to take you back in time. *Starts Fog Machine* Thousands of years ago…before Sigourney Weaver (Reference) When I was a kid, I had almost perfect health, that was until I started getting sore throats on a monthly basis….
It always starts with the tentative reach of fingers, two notches below chilly; one hand smoothing over my side as I’m enveloped by his core warmth. Our heartbeats sync and the magnetic draw of our bodies seal us from shoulders to the curves of my body to finally the creep of his cold feet wrapped…
“Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign. But stories can also be used to empower, and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people. But stories can also repair that broken dignity.” ― Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Tying to negotiate my way through this foggy haze smoke induced dreams of what may have been sun spots brighten up the abyss’ manuevers who is this looking back at me in the mirror?
God never meant, in my understanding for Jesus to be worshiped. Let me give you an example, if you dad is a Neurosurgeon, would the hospital call you into work if your dad was unavailable? Checkmate.