Angels of Hospitality_A Glimmer of Hope_Hypocrite_But for the Grace, of Grace
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Angels of Hospitality
Angels of Hospitality When Steven, my husband, lost his job, we were living from paycheck to paycheck, taking one day at a time while having faith tomorrow will be our breakthrough. Steven has been on this road several times before but, we always bounced back from those set-backs. As each day came and went as I reflected back, what caused us to get into this place for the past few years. Steven had a temper and when others at work would push his buttons, he would fly off the handle and quit each job. Maybe, this time he would be more patient at the next job. While Steven was researching for an...
A Glimmer of Hope
Sitting on a camp chair, sipping steaming hot tea, I was transfixed on the pink hue spreading across the horizon. Rugged up in my army green, canvas sleeping bag, wearing a thick, brown beanie, and fingerless gloves, I barely even notices for the cold nipping on the exposed skin of my face and fingers. This precious moment, to me was perfection. I watched intently, as the dusty pink gave way to a deep orange, before the blinding yellow circle, so bright that I winced, even with my eyes closed, burst into view and took over the morning sky. Then, with a loud clatter of metal camp mugs and plate...
Hypocrite
Pasha Rivers became who she hated. Moreover, she hated that she loved it. Open up the yearbook, coated in twenty years of dust, and you'll struggle to find her picture until you read the names. You'll do a double take, because the last name doesn't match, but how www.onedoor.ccmany parents name their kid Pasha? She pulls her yearbook off the shelf, flipping slowly through the pages. A lot of these people are on social media now. She's avoided making a profile so that they can't find her. Her former self is a hypocrite. She's some obese, angry loser with no hope that needed to get kicked into high gear. Lo...
But for the Grace, of Grace
The fog was so thick that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. My head and the hole in my shoulder was excruciatingly painful. I'd been shot before but not like this, never like this. Sitting in the saddle, with my one good arm and blood oozing down my face, I managed to tie myself tight. I had to get help. I could feel myself slipping, falling, losing my grip. The good book said that death rides a pale horse, or was it a pale rider on a horse and his name was death. I can’t remember anymore; it was so long ago. I have to get help, somehow, but where? The fog is so thick. Sleep. Rest. D...