Out or the corner of his eye he saw the tree, it was sparkling with silver light, tiny rainbows hanging and dancing from every needle, it was so beautiful his heart leapt,
There is no bliss like the bliss of grace. An unearned gift that spills from the hands of something greater than us. A reminder that far beyond the reach of our comprehension
I heard the teachings and they were good. They were like the morning sun rising in the sky. And I said to myself, but what of my soul? What of the hand that trails over