By Stephanie Seaton
I think that God uses foggy weather as a way of curling himself around my once frozen heart, to cushion the pieces that fall as they thaw.
I am soul weary of the ever present critic within myself and others, fostered by our society, who scoffs at a heartfelt notion. The one who tramples on those that feel deeply, as if they are weak. Those who cheapen the life of the artist, musician, pastor, councilor, and teacher because these people are not “accomplishing anything”. The one who constantly points out every flaw and does not see the beauty that lies beneath.
I want my soul to be as a flower: Soft, vibrant, fragile, fragrant, and deep. Willing to die to myself each winter so that some other fragile soul may grow where I once did.
I want to blossom in the sunlight and soak in the rain. I want to bring a splotch of unsolicited color into a gray world. The question I ask into the heart of you, the reader of these ramblings, is this:
How long has it been since you truly let yourself feel something?
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