Stop. Breathe. Remember God's Simplicity...

How much faith is enough to keep Satan away? A mustard seed seems inadequate. Even with this small amount of overwhelming power in our hands, Satan tip-toes on egg shells, casually wandering his hand in our pockets to rob your faith, replacing it with ideas claimed as your own. Faith does not come gift wrapped anymore. One has to squeeze it from the seeds of the old and dried forbidden fruit. Praying that just one ounce of faith would kiss our lips, and protect our soul from the one who wishes to steal it. Satan slithers silently however. He has played the game of deception before, deceiving God into believing he was a true follower. A true prince of lies. Faith and Satan weigh the same, deceptionally so. The ideas cherished in your heart come from the heart of God. ...... or do they breed like a disease derived from the devil? How to distinguish the two. How much faith keeps Satan at bay? A mustard seed seems insufficient nowadays.

The mockingly white screen blinks "stupid." Fingers tap on the table,but not on the keys. Write. Think. Do something. Inspiration runs rapidly in place.

This is ridiculous. How old are you? Yet you're back on the playground, sweaty palms, and an over-beating heart. The pressure building up in your gut to do something unheard of. uncalled for. Just do it! Will anyone be watching? Crap! Just tell them it's stupid. Then I look like a wimp. I am not a wimp. ... Crap! So I do it. This is not the kid from the playground. She's grown up now. Against my Aunt's wishes, the frilly black death trap incircling my cousin's black dress, clawing and scratching at her neck like a kitten with claws, shaped in a feminine fan, front to back, but formed like a torture device proudly planted by Satan himself, was unstitched from the seems of her dress. The day before her sister's wedding. Take it out Alexa, I won't say that it was you. Her mother, my aunt, repetitively said no, but the advantage of my cousin's wild youth took hold of me and told me yes. So I unstitched it, flawlessly, but

As for mortals, their days are like grass; they flourish like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more. Psalm 103:15,16. When I die, my memories should live on without me. Don't let them die on my account. The human shell that forms what defines me here on Earth will decompose. Because it shouldn’t define me, it’s disposable. My looks will blend with the soil, my hair will thin and become like hay, but immortal me that resides in this soul will refuse to be forgotten. I would never wish for loved ones to cry for me, And they shouldn’t be allowed to wear black at my funeral. Admire me for what I offer, my inner beauty. What I’ve learned from death is that you cannot live your life passively. I don't know what I'll be remembered for, but I will be remembered. Joan of Arc was a martyr at nineteen. Rosa Parks proved the word "no" can inspire a new era of thinking. Emily Dickinso

Brace yourself world! I come full throttle. Like a ninja warrior, sneaky, assertive (but with a feminine style). You might never see me coming. You ambush with ninja stars of soul piercing heart ache, or an occasional  bomb combusts into a ritual of disappointments. However,I've been trained, and  your moves are predictable. I see them coming like distant rain clouds. I'm ready to look you in the eye,and tell you that you're weak. For every event that appears bad in our lives, there is an underlying good, and you've done so well sweeping it under your rug of lies. I can't help but smile. I know that this annoys you world, but my indestructible moves, make me undefeated. While you've made your choice to go against man, I've learned mankind is not  hopeless. Watching you get angry brings me joy, because you've sat and watched me suffer, for as long as I can remember. So now that I'm older, you're not so skilled. The student h

Purity is tied on a string, it's something I always bring. Yet when sin tips the cradle, it's branches are fatal, and batters the heart of the king. Purity is held in both hands  (and usually no one understands). but with a sinful kiss, it flies off your wrist. and fly away if given the chance. Purity dances to the wind. Precious to those who have sinned. Then sin brings it down. Like a brick to the ground. and good nature is suddenly pinned. Purity all along reminds us where we belong. Through the hazadrous waste of satan's bad taste. it remains almighty and strong. Mental Note: Be the best you can be in the flawless image of God.