From fellow blogger Lee Botha who lives in South Africa.
This is so good! And so freeing! Since losing my son, my prayer life is reduced to begging mercy and grace and then waiting for the Spirit to breathe life afresh into my heart. I sometimes feel guilty that I can’t muster the long-winded (or multi-page) prayers I once could.
She’s right-there is no wrong way to be a lizard in the son or a child of the Most High basking in His holy presence, seeking His fatherly face.
I love this.
I love November. It’s the summer month par excellence for me. Early mornings, days stretching to their apogee, their afternoons often swallowed up by thunderstorms and rain that beats the smell of ozone from the earth. November is full of the dance of some old thing we’ve mostly lost to the advent of 24-hour living. Novembers are simply magical.
November isn’t hugely productive as a rule. Combined with the mischievous wink of summer and sun and the approach of Christmas (tacky, seasonally inappropriate decorations seemed to go up at the stroke of midnight on the 31st of October) and the beckon of the schools closing for the year, November is about as circumspect as a toddler presented with a bowl of candy. It’s an odd time to be thinking about the Advent season and the new year, when so many things seem to be telling you to stop…
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