Yesterday I felt like my writting had hit a snag, okay, okay a slump. What- ever this is, I know can write my way out. God always makes a way out. Now that ‘s not to say, there isn’t spilled milk or crying, going-on over here. I’ve done plenty. As the old saying goes, no need crying over spilled milk. I guess the writer forgot to add, when there is spillage and honey there will be spillage.

Nobody knows how far the spill spreads, a little here, a little there. Feels like I’m swimming around in it. One small drip into a thousand more, cascades off the light pink-brown table down onto the brown rustic wooden legs seeping into kitchen cracks. I’m running around looking for a clean dish rag. Why? I don’t know why?

I know this makes no sense but that’s just the way life is. There’s the car that won’t start so I walk my kids to the school bus, only to find the milk still leaking. My neighbor stops me to tell me, that the doctors have found a small tumor in her throat. Milk still leaking.

I just need God to come through, for my neighbor, my family and everyone else around me, even those reading this right now.

As I’m cleaning and praying.

I couldn’t use my kitchen towels because my seven-year old’s glue stick project was fully occupied with slimy goo. Pasted in red letters, Happy Valentine’s mushed in-between.

I thought of the next best thing. Hey no judgment! These things happen, when the milk is being spilled.

I found some old shirts, thick enough to absorb a gallon of -precious jewels like this.

There’s nothing reuse-able about God’s holy spirit

God I know you can hear it, the cry of your people

undeniable pounding

pouring out,
sounding like the base of thunder

heal us again

try us O’ God , somethings gotta give

if we can’t change the course

change the course of our heart

in tune with your holy spirit

in tune with our bodies

in tune with you

kindness sis, Krissy