The soul lifted his feet and walked to meet his maker,

It felt the dirt and filth of the man who degraded him,

over and over and over he forced it to see and feel,

the terror of a child as they were bruised, battered and

violated by the body inhabited, vainly longing for change.

God looked at the wretched, broken soul, and weeping

welcomed the soul into heaven with holding and a sad,

glad heart. The soul wept bitter tears of abuse and took

the task to commit to pray for the many tortured souls,

children whose souls are assaulted aggressively daily.


Little thought is given to where we take our souls and

precious moments gladden their hearts but the sullied,

soiled, sanctimonious situations batter these spiritually

based beings against the beauty, pure joy of heaven

from whence they arrived   unadulterated, loving, a holy


guide to show us the way to find love and hope. The

children know.   It is like a blighting millstone around 

their necks too. Souls arrive as a sky filled sunrise to 

us and speak gently and kindly leading us to be our

best but some close their minds, block the light, and 

welcome darkness.

Slowly the soul shrivels and hides unable to leave,

like bulls in china shops, we smash the potential of a 

loving hope and tread on the broken pieces of each

life we touch or we can celebrate our gifted spirituality,

love its gracious presence, leaning on its goodness.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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