freewriter
Transport. Airport. Airplane. You'll be flying to London, I'll be flying to Toronto. You'll get a connection to Kenya, I'll get one to Costa Rica.
Adios, amiga.
I love and hate airports...
"You will be missed"
She was well aware, I think. And, with mascara running down our cheeks, the five of us huddled, and prayed. It was time to say goodbye, but not forever. Not forever, but for now.
Deer are not uncommon, where I live. It is not unusual to turn on the traffic report, and hear news of a deer on one of the city's main roads.
And not too long ago, somebody my mother knows was in a car accident involving a moose on a highway. The young lady that my mum knows is critically ill, and the other girl is in hospital. These things happen, I suppose.
Repeat repeat repeat. For emphasis. Like the stories, in the gospels, of people asking and receiving. Broken people. Lost people. People who'd screwed up. People who didn't deserve healing. Asking and receiving. The stories are repeated, so that, maybe, one day, we'll understand the idea that is not by works we are saved.
And the punishment was no more
Or, not no more...
The punishment was no longer a weight on my shoulders
It had been taken by he who did not deserve it
He who laid down his life
The punishment was something I was no longer tied down by
Instead, I found myself
Drowning
In grace.