It Is Better For The Heart To

What Can We Do About God, Who Makes And Then Breaks Every God-forsaken, Beautiful Day?

And Who Will Care, Who Will Chide You If You Wander Away From Wherever You Are, To Look For Your Soul?

It Doesn't Have To Be The Blue Iris, It Could Be Weeds In A Vacant Lot, Or A Few Small Stones; Just Pay Attention, Then Patch A Few Words Together And Don't Try To Make Them Elaborate, This Isn't A Contest But The Doorway Into Thanks, And A Silence In Which Another Voice May Speak.

... Let Us Risk The Wildest Places, Lest We Go Down In Comfort, And Despair.

I Read The Way A Person Might Swim, To Save His Or Her Life. I Wrote That Way Too.