don't be surprised when u see me plucking off leaves and smelling them. that familiar uplifting scent. callistemon 'little john' or something like that i remember. now i understand the meaning of plants contributing to national identity.
it is heartening to see that the saint also went through similar struggles. but the content, intensity and more importantly, the response of the struggles are so beyond my reach i feel ashamed at my lacklustre faith.
a challenge, a turning. a mistake, another fork in the road. at times i've hoped. at times i wanted to let go. still the thought lingers, but it doesn't matter any longer. but i'm finding no longer any meaning in our conversations. i don't understand in what way i am to minister. maybe they are afraid of silence, because that is when the gnawing hole inside of them cannot be ignored. set me as a watchman, lest we are hardened by the deceitfulness of sin.