It’s true that how we spend our days is how we end up spending our lives.*
What if the life we are meant to live requires a broken spirt and contrite heart as we yield to who we are and to what must bring?
Just a thought.
“A dream,” he said, “as it goes whiffling through the night air, is making a tiny little buzzing noise. But this little buzzy-hum is silvery soft, it is impossible for a human bean to be hearing it”**