Awake and Dreaming

When I was six my dad and I used to do a skit called 'Mr Yahwehs Kite'.
I can still feel his hand run along my spine as he pretended to build me, the little kite. He stretched out the wings and covered them with paper, attached the string and let me fly.
I'm older now but when I look at the simple silouttes of a landscape I am reminded that it all comes back to this. He built with love. Dad did, and Yahweh did.

Because the darkness of night may lick at my heels but release burns brighter, stronger, and more passionately.

I painted release with my hands. While I was unaware and left this to dry, so did He.

Days stitched together by tears were an all too common reality.
I never thought of myself as a princess but one day He surprised me. It was truth and grace together. A call to move past every fibre in me that ached and longed for release. His truth despite the reality.