A Private Winter

Suffering is an emblem of learning, a quiet recital of lessons earned. It is an omen of what is yet to come—a corridor lined with designer scars not yet seen, stitched together by faith. To have faith, you must trust. And to trust, you must accept whatever ride you’re on—the wounds, the scars, the ribbons of pain that slip in whether the doors are open or closed, leaving their marks behind.
You must learn to value your scars, assign them a worth, rather than dwell on their constant intrusion. Keep moving forward. Stop worrying. Let it go. Run wild. Let out your loudest roller-coaster scream. Breathe.
Find the root of the wound. With your best scissors in hand, cut it clean—then sew it back together. Yes, easier said than done. I know. But you are shaping blessings. Tomorrow, you will be healed. One day, you’ll tell the story—how you overcame it all, how the Man Upstairs had a hand in it.
Life lessons.

Glory Days

Our lives are filled with colorful pockets of hours.

Hours of joy. Hours of mourning. Hours of glory. Hours of bounding. Hours of sorrow. Hours of learning. Hours of envy. Hours of greatness. Hours of imperfections. Hours of growth. Hours of enlightenment. Hours of prosperity. Hours of condemnation. Hours of disgust. Hours of pain. Hours…

Hours of suffering.

Yes, suffering. A current of little dots permeating our lives like school of fish bundle up in a can. Fictional groceries camouflaged in a shopping bag. A left turn signal in the middle of an highway. An imaginary whopper of make-believe junction of impulsivity that makes bed, uninvited.

Suffering is the glue that keeps on sticking without the adhesive. The red mat on the corner of our living rooms. It is never in vain but rewarding and it comes with its calling card.

Hours of glory!