Marital love is a demanding and dying thing compared to the stuff of movies and mirages.
The love of imagination — it’s a different beast entirely than love made in the image of a Saviour with nails in His hands.
The Farmer writes little with pens. He’s a man who prefers to write his love letters with his life.
I need to write down my thanks.
Stop here, to read the story that started the reflection.
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