• Divorce,  Faith,  Featured,  life

    Intentional Weakness

    “Intentional living is the art of making our own choices before others’ choices make us.” Richie Norton It started with the divorce. And it seems to have continued with unintentional acts of procrastination, haggardness, and dismal outlook. Continuing my revelations about how divorce has affected me and what the future (God’s plan) holds for me, I came to another realization this last week. I realize I have succumbed to the very worst obstacle to walking out my destiny – my weakness of being unintentional. As if a prophecy had years ago been uttered about how my life would turn out, I’ve allowed fate – life – to determine what has…

  • Featured,  Writing

    The Friday Muse – Tinson’s Door (Part 2)

    Curiosity had always scratched at his insides, luring him into the fields of science, technology, and astronomy. The Black Door, however, was something completely different. It was something that fell between the shelves of Tinson’s chosen fields of research. The Black Door was something supernatural, something alien. Something bizarre.

  • Featured

    Passion’s Thief

    Have you lost your passion? Have you let depression and complacency rule your spirit? Have you let the enemy take all that is dear to you without a proper fight? Then it's time that you too rise from the ashes. It's time that you too remember why you started down this road. No journey ever began in a vacuum. It began with passion toward something. Toward a vision. Toward a future.

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – Tinson’s Door (Part 1)

    Tinson felt a strange mix of loneliness and contemplative freedom being in the common study room this late after everyone else had already retired for the evening, even though on most nights, the scientists and scholars who came to this place usually stayed late into the night and early into the morning to drink in the knowledge and research available in the mid-sized study hall.

  • Faith,  The Friday Muse,  Writing

    From the Ashes

    You may kill a fire. And everything you know falls to dust and ash. Yet the remarkable treasure in this seemingly hopeless pile, is hidden deep within. The burning embers incarnate the perpetual desire to go from spark to flame. - Akilnathan Logeswaran

  • Divorce,  life

    The Shattered Pieces

    When things fall apart, the broken pieces allow all sorts of things to enter, and one of them is the presence of God. – Shauna Niequist Denial. It’s a poison that many of us like to carry around with us, and it is something that can kill our dreams, those around us, even ourselves if we’re not careful. Unfortunately, denial is the poison I sipped upon for months after my divorce. I thought I was okay. I thought it wasn’t affecting me very much. And that’s the beauty of denial – it’s able to seep down into the deepest roots of our being, blind us to the truth, and destroy…

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – The Princess of Para

    The frosted glass allowed the morning’s luminescence to bleed into the castle, filling the hallway with bright white light that flowed gracefully across the white marble flooring, the brownish-gray walls, and the ivory doors of the servants’ quarters. The scent of bacon and potatoes filled the wide corridor, signaling breakfast, but the silence that permeated the thick tile and even thicker walls gave the illusion it was still night when everyone slumbered and hid from the darkness within the darkness. Irasta walked barefoot across the tiles, the undersides of her feet chilled by the lingering cold that seized the fortress each night. She momentarily missed the comfort of her own…

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – Hidden

    Blood soaked the carpet, surrounding Rune like a blossoming rose. What he thought would have been the killing blow by Hastings simply put him in a state of misery he had never experienced before. His skull ached as if it were being tightened in a vice, and the rest of his broken form cried out in echoes of pain that mimicked the agonizing cries of a banshee. He didn’t have to guess that his wounds might be fatal by this point. And even if they weren’t, he knew Hastings would finish the job once he was finished cleaning up his wounded face. But the fact that Rune might be at…

  • Writing

    Small Sacrifices

    The receptionist at the front desk wore a long white lab coat, but Brittany doubted she was a doctor. Or a nurse. Or in any way related to the medical field. She carried a bit of weight in her stomach and cheeks, and she smelled like wildflower-scented soap. Her scent was much like that of Brittany’s grandmother, and it made Brittany want to throw up. Just show me where to sign. The clipboard rose over the counter like a starship and landed in front of Brittany’s trembling hands. She noticed her black nail polish had chipped on several fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she had painted them. She…