when words are strangely reassuring.

He Knows My Name-Paul Baloche

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call

if there must be true love, this is it.
not a love that seeks helplessly for the attention or approval of the other party.
not a love that skeptics claim are for all but the strong.

no, it's a love for the courageous; it's a love for those who realise that love, true love, can only be this great when they dare face their weaknesses.

Comments

i love physics.

every morning an endless battle ensues within me. the gravitational force that's tugging at me back into bed and the equally strong urgency derived from a pile of never ending work that's making me move towards my breakfast drawer. usually the one that requires me to travel the shortest distance ends up victorious. the bed of cos, which goes without saying. unless the force on the other end is simply too great a draw- a growling stomach maybe, but almost all the time, it's about work that's loading as if each piece were under the influence of gravity and the only way it could go is down onto me. sometimes i wish both forces work in the same direction.

when words read a million times over but still never a bore.(unlike my exam notes that are boring me to tears)

"When you drop a glass or a plate to the ground it makes a loud crashing sound. When a window shatters, a table leg breaks, or when a picture falls off the wall it makes a noise. But as for your heart, when that breaks, it's completely silent. You would think it's so important that it would make the loudest noise in the whole world, or even have some sort of ceremonious sound like the gong of a cymbal or the ringing of a bell. But it's silent and you almost wish there was a noise to distract you from the pain." --Cecelia Ahern

Mr perfect/miss imperfect

Instead of waiting for the perfect one, work at being the perfect one instead. These words roll off the tongue with ease like a familiar jingle. Yet the former holds an appeal tt the latter can never achieve.could it be, that at the end of the day, we are, in fact, more aware of reality than we realise? The former, perhaps, more achievable than the latter?

life's mean reds.

Search This Blog