A season of transition, even the the air holds tension. Expectation masquerading as apprehension riding in on the tail of the spring breeze.
Clarity of vision for tomorrow is what I crave .
In my dreams I’ve seen a different way.
Life is blissfully misfitting, joyful yet lacking and fraction misaligned.
Comforted, yes, but none the less unsatisfied.
I’ve learned that freedom was never born from comfort zones. Old doors seldom lead to new tomorrows and it’s all beautiful and blessed but somehow incomplete. Like a novel unfinished, a masterpiece half hidden in shadow, a journey dreamed but not begun .
Is it foolishness to want for more when what I hold already is beyond what I had hope for?
Resurrected existence is works in progress…. shifting changing , rolling with the punches , biding my time while I earn my stripes and learn the land … but when is it time to stand ?
Wisdom in choosing battles wisely , prayer of the season.
Night shift 