the fig part

The last three months were fig. Fig n heavy. Challenges eagerly trying to outdo one another..taking advantage of an aging battlefield. Weariness leaves sunken footprints in the mud of life. Assez! Assez! je crie.

Spirit's flattened. Foreboding shadows. Strife and stress. Grey. All grey, only grey. Heavy, burdening grey.

The sweet memory of fellowship with the Saviour flits past my eyes like a beautiful white butterfly. Light, lively. The flutter of a more innocent age. Flitting white flight lightening heavy grey. Inviting. Welcoming. Beckoning me back. Peaceful joy. Easy trust. Fearless intimacy. Beloved child. Abba Father.

Return to the Lord, O my soul.