There are times
when God seems silent. As if my prayers don’t get past the ceiling. Answers lost in the ticking of time. Holy Silence. Deafening Silence. Answered by the whispers of Angels. And somehow, life goes on, time heals or at least forms scabs that turn to faint scars. And I recognize the ceiling opened when I least expected it, allowing for Answers. Words by Paula Estelle Jackson 10-19-2019 Art by Renee Steger Simpson “Patron Saint of Holy Silence”
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AuthorHUMOR-IST (is that a word?) I can find and expel (the word expel makes me think of passing gas) humor in most moments of life Archives
March 2021
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