It is 5:30 PM.
The air in my “office” (aka my garage, which doubles as my prayer closet, which doubles as my hiding place…well, you get it) is thick with a residue I can’t name. It isn’t anger. It’s the spiritual exhaust left in the soul when trying to walk in the Spirit collides, again, with the hard, messy edges of other broken image-bearers. People ar…
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