I keep wanting to write the “right thing” like if I write about peace and love then somehow I will earn their God, but when He called me and said “be a voice calling in the wilderness,” and showed me John the Baptist, I’m pretty sure He was not telling me to be complacent.
But I want to be. I used to be. I’m tired and I’m scared, in these times the wrong opinion, or color, or facial expression could get you shot, and I know I’m not that big yet, but I’m still scared.
I want to do His will, but I also jump every noise I hear outside because I’m afraid they are gunshots. And I watch the clock for my husband to come home because he has to cross the capital. And I shudder when those who were my moral compass condemn my love and advocate a hatred so evil I didn’t think it could exist.
I’m not saying that to make you feel bad. This is just my night.
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