Changing

Since coming back to uni this term, a lot of things have changed. My perspectives have been massively challenged and my relationship with God pushed forward into a new stage. It's always a journey, but this has been a massive step. (And my blog is going to undergo changes to reflect this- so watch out!)

This is a prayer that I intend to pray daily from now on. And mean it.

Today, I pray:

help me take my hands off my life

Today, let me be a sacrifice

My every thought, action or word

every pause, silence and submission

be not for myself but for YOU

And only you.

You, Jesus, died for yourself so that I might live.

I pray, today

I would die to myself so that you might live

in me, on this earth.

I intend to say that daily, because I know now that living the christian life is a hard-core commitment that you have to make FREQUENTLY in your heart. It's a life of apologising, accepting forgiveness, widening understanding of just how amazing that grace is that we can have, that we can even BE forgiven (!) and loving God more because of it, in your heart, in your life, with gratitude and obedience.  Every. Single. Day.

Understanding the past...

For my Parents silver wedding anniversary I have been unearthing photos in albums tracking their 25 years of marriage- (check out the Tea House for more on this...) - which has been quite an exercise. If you aren't one for indulging in enormous amounts of nostalgia I definitely don't recommend doing this- especially not routing through about twenty different, and dusty, photograph albums. As I rummaged, I moved through the 1990's to the 2000's, watching as years were added to my parents faces and my chubby limbs became long and lanky ones. I saw the arrival of a puppy and became an onlooker as he turned into an old, stinky dog. I saw the houses around our family change, becoming witness to moments of hilarity and tears that have otherwise been forgotten. I felt like I was picking apart an old, old brain, where all this information had been stored away in darkness for years.

It made me wish for the past. Made my inner child dance around inside of me. The cuts on my knees as I went in to do ballet, the harry-potter books I read in the bath, the bouncy-castle we got for that one birthday, the bridge I jumped off into summery rivers. It took me back I can tell you.

I know that you don't pull out the camera in the awful ugly moments; when you drop that harry potter book in the bath for the umpteenth time, or cry because all the boys are on the bouncy castle. So I know that this is definitely a one-sided look at my childhood, but I want to question whether or not having 'rose tinted glasses' is necessarily a bad thing. Can't we just celebrate all the good times that we had? The bad times shaped us, made us who we are most likely, but so does remembering and indulging in all the fun and laughter we enjoyed way back then. Don't you think?

No, not always. I feel like God gave me this task so that I might remember how it was. And remembering how it was, helps you understand the way things are. It's so important to have a grasp of the past to look clearly at the present; how otherwise would I understand my parents? Or even friends? Isn't that true with everything in life? Take the Bible, for example: it is crucial we look at the past in the Old Testament, the way we mucked up and rejected everything God is- to fully understand the AMAZING vastness of his grace in forgiving that, and choosing to die for us anyway. Gospel truth. Understanding the past...helps us appreciate our present and grasp our future. We can just smile at what used to make us smile, we can blithely ignore the dark bits if we want- but I want to suggest that this leaves us lesser people. We are more if we take our past, all of it, not just the bright and sunny photos, but all of it, and use it to understand the present, and let that form us as we should be. Whole. As God intended.

Cornwall.

I spend a lot of my time in Cornwall. I don't consider myself 'cornish' but it's definitely more a home than anywhere else. The beach is like a familiar friend; I know every cave and cliff walk; I can tell you what rock-fall is new, every different tideline or where a sandbank used to be. As a child I was dragged round on a surfboard through each little puddle, as a teenager I jumped off nearly every rock-face. It's private, small, England's undiscovered treasure, and I fully intend to visit it's beach every year of my life. Walking on the cliffs, I feel closer to God than I do anywhere else in the world; watching the sea is like watching Him breath. The landscape is incredible. I struggle to NOT believe when I'm stood there, cold toes, wind on face, inside the world. But what is really beautiful about it, is what it doesn't have. There is no internet, and almost no signal. When we escape to Cornwall it's like we burrow beneath the world and lay there in hiding for a few weeks. Looking back I don't know what I would have done without that space to run to. It's like a pocket of air. It's family too. Tradition. It's the old and new mingled together; I sleep in a bed I've slept in since I was five, in a room that still has the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up on the ceiling. Yet at the same time I'm living in the present, making new memories inside the walls that hold my past. Cornwall is definitely a home like no other; and a great spot for some photography too......

Who are you?

I recently re-wrote the summary of myself over at The TeaHouse. And decided to post it on here, because as I was writing it got a little bit (a teensy bit) philosophical...! And I thought you all should hear what I have to say about defining yourself...

Who am I?

It's something I, and every other person who has ever been a teenager, has been trying to work out for a good while now. Who actually are we? And I've worked out that most of us take our identity from the things we DO. For example;

A social-bee defines him/herself by the amount of friends they have.

A work-a-holic defines him/herself by how good they are at their job.

A religious person defines him/herself by how 'good' they can make themselves.

If you fall into either one of these categories, or even another one, then you are in danger. Placing who you are on what you do is like balancing a priceless and fragile ornament on a tower of matchsticks. It's a silly thing to do, as I have learnt only too well. Because it will definitely come tumbling down at one point or another. The moment you loose a friend, fail at work, do something bad- you are thrown into crisis and have to desperately search for something, anyhting to regain your sense of self-worth and piece yourself back together. We've all been there, haven't we? So it's a dangerous question, but a vital one:

Who am I?

I think what christians have discovered, and myself among them, is something wonderful. We acknowledge that we WILL do bad things, we WILL mess up at work and in relationships. We know that the tower will crumble and we can't draw our identity from something that keeps on smashing, keeps on letting us down. It's ultimately self-destructive. But so is gaining your identity from the fact that you will always fail, which is what happens eventually to a lot of people: Who am I? I am a failure, I am a failure, I am a failure. NO. Christians defy this. They define themselves like this:

I am a failure, but God has redeemed me.

God has made me whole. God has picked me up and put me on my feet.

I am who I am because He is who He is.

And there's the truth of it.

I can go around and live my life; working hard because he wants me to, making relationships to show just a little bit of that love which he gives me, trying to be 'good' not for my own sake, but for his. I can live my life BETTER, and TO THE FULL because of God's love for me. If I lose a friend, mess up at work, do something bad; I can take it back to the cross. I can know that I am defined by God's love. And God's love is something that will never change; it is as constant as day and night and THAT is what I base my identity on. So in whatever situation, whether I'm friendless, penniless, sinful, alone, hated, segregated, I can always always say:

Who am I?

I am Milla, loved by God.

(Cheesey. But it packs a punch eh?)

Meet my friends.

Meet my friends. The most hilarious bunch of nineteen year-olds you have ever seen or heard. You may be thinking: I've never encountered these girls before in my life! But trust me, you have. If you have ever heard an orchestra of screaming and giggling further down the street, behind you in the cinema, on that other table in the restaurant, ahead of you on a walk, somewhere in a museum, in church, in a swimming pool- that was us. That was definitely us. We ARE those girls that everyone finds so PAINFUL to deal with on a train, aeroplane, bus or any form of public transport. I wouldn't say we delight in this destruction of peace, more that it is an unconscious side-effect of our explosive friendship. We are used to the glares from strangers, and do, believe it or not, try to stifle the laughs and quell the jokes- it doesn't often work. But our flammable and eruptive relationship makes us friends as well as enemies. The waiters, for example, at our favourite restaurant in Croatia (for some reason we thought it would be a good idea to take such anarchy overseas) became such 'chums' that they bordered on joining in with the camaraderie. Suffice to say- we gave them a large tip. We even began a conga on the street with a few more kindred spirits! So these are my friends, and for a long while I genuinely believed them integral to my identity. But university has stretched us thin, pulling us all to different places across the nation; proving that though my I don't DEPEND on them, I miss them immensely. I can only wait for the time when we eight are reunited (maybe Cornwall this year; a student has to budget!) and the ear-defeaning, scowl-winning, side-splittingly chaos may continue.

Faces of Tanzania

Pascal

We called him Pascal. Our English ears were not accustomed to the tang of Swahili so it was a long time before we realised his real name was Pasiko. He was the face of Tanzania before I even realised it.  This picture is on our very first day to the Church site, where we would be building for the next three months, and he was the only soul around. I saw him as a lanky child, wild, climbing about these hot, snake infested African rocks watching us with wary eyes and undisguised curiosity. We were the first foreigners he had ever seen, and he was the first person from Kyamajoje I had ever seen. Getting to know him later- him sitting with us in the truck, catching balloons, colouring in tracts- I didn't recognise him as the lonely observerer on our first day, it was only when I looked back at this picture that I realised he'd been there since the beginning. He remains in my memory as one of the main faces of Tanzania, and it's with pain that I remember visiting his house and seeing the thin rag of a mattress he slept on, knowing we had not enough money left to buy him one.

Two days old...

I didn't notice the baby at first. We were in the hut only to erect a much needed mosquito-net over the bed, and as we fiddled with the packaging and our eyes adjusted slowly to the dinge, the mother began to gesture wildly. She leant over, as we watched, and picked up a tiny bundle of clothes. Inside, lay this baby. I cannot remember his name, only that the mother was frantic at the boils errupting on it's tiny, shining forehead. Can you do anything? Was the silent plea. This baby was was one of first patients. Thankfully he was fine.

Johnny-boy and Farida

Johnny-boy was our favourite from the start. I laugh when I remember him. He was elder, an obvious leader amongst the children, and his bright eyes and easy, loud laugh would soon bring him close to the whole team. His arms were so skinny, his legs unbelievably thin, but what we remember Johnny for most were his quirks, his patent personality. He had the habit of wearing one shoe. In a landscape of thorns and shrubbery and snakes this was not only a bold move but a risky one- our own legs, clad in thick boots or trainers, were soon ripped to shreds. Yet perhaps my favourite peculiarity of Johnny's was the pink whistle hanging around his neck. As our van would trundle through the village in the early morning you could often hear it being blown frantically and if you looked through the back window he would be seen chasing us down, closely followed by his friends and, as we would discover later- family. I vividly remember Andy teaching him how to blow the 'Match of the Day' theme tune...

Jackson

There's too much to say about Jackson. If you really want to read it, you can see the blog I did on the teahouse........ But essentially he was our translator, driver, guide, teacher and friend. Jackson probably is THE face of Tanzania for me. He helped us bridge the divide between gap-year team and the 'real africa.' He was invaluable to all of us.

Anna

She was always the clingiest. Always the loudest. Individual. Dependent. I don't know what the typical physcological state of a two year old Orphan should be, but watching Anna filled me with pity. She needed so much. She would push at you, climb on you, hug you and scream at you to the point of irritation. For me she was not just the face of Tanzania, but the face of it's need. Her eyes, so wide and clamorous , her loud voice and demanding personality could be said to echo the cries of the poverty in Tanzania. 

Alexi

Alexi was an Orphan too. His cheery smile and boisterous character would come rushing to greet you as you took off your shoes to enter the orphanage. He was much like Anna. His story is one that stuck with me though. He'll be too young to remember it, but abandonment is always a hard thing to bear, even at one year old. A part of me feels guilty as we, gap-year teams, come and go. Bond and break. Because Alexi's family packed up and left when he was just able to walk, leaving him alone in their house, wondering where his mother and father had gone.

Sofia

She was, at the beginning, just one of many people who were bundled in the back of a truck to be taken to hospital. They came at us slowly at first, wary, uncertain, and yet soon people were walking for miles to grasp desparately at the charity we offered. Sofia was one of them. And yet somehow her story became entwined with ours and we set out on a journey to heal her. First, we took her to the coptic with three others- Maria, I should mention, a young girl who we taught to play Uno who had something wrong with her eye, a mother and daughter, and Sofia. The Coptic, the local hospital, confirmed her ill-founded suspicions of the demons of her ancestors, and told her to see a witch doctor. We, christians, were horrified. At church the following sunday we took her aside and prayed with her and I remember how powerfully the tears stole down her cheeks, and how she thanked us with a clasp of the hand and a baleful look in the eyes. We were determined to help her. Once we did get her seen at the Government hospital, x-rayed, and kitted out with an array of pills- it arose that she had at least five things seriously wrong. Billherzia, lungworms, neurological (brain) issues that meant she shook incessantly, peptic acid and an amaeba. But by the end of our time with her she had transformed completely. I'll never forget her running in circles in front of us and laughing, free, as if some dark invisible shadows had been lifted from her back. Her shaking had almost stopped. Her energy was impressive and she no longer hunched as if in constant pain.

Masuri

Masuri was always there. His face formed a natural scowl, his eyes deep and penetrating. I did manage to get a photo of him smiling, but this one sums him up in one snap. He, with Johnny-boy his brother, would clamber up the large and looming rocks that formed the backdrop of Kyamajoje. They would observe us from there until we, being filled with the sense of adventure Tanzania brings, decided to join them. We trekked upwards and walked with them through the rocks. They would throw smaller stones as far as they could and Masuri had an incredibly long arm for how skinny it was. I remember how they refused to make the jump to the rock that jutted out on the edge, and how we did anyway and laughed at their fear. Naieve perhaps? Masuri, and his brother, would carry around with them a machete. They would wander around, mere children, with knives in hand, and to be honest, it is a good thing they did. Because we were up there climbing with them once, when they spotted a snake. They yelled and set about frantically trying to see it and scare if off. Our little protectors. 

Obede

You aren't meant to have favourites. It's a basic rule. And yet by the end I couldn't help the fact that this little boy, probably three or four years old, had stolen my affection! He had a stupidly round head, skinny arms and legs, a round protruding belly and large shining eyes. Him and his brother didn't speak swahili, or english, but spoke enough with their actions. After the initial fright, they wouldn't leave us alone. They would beg us to pick them up,  give them a little snack. They followed us around. We taught Obede a little song and he repeated that one line over and over and over until we were all sick of it. My favourite memory is when they were watching us build, taking in every detail. We would get a pencil, draw a line using the back of the saw, and hack off the correct amount of wood. When our backs were turned one day, Obede grabbed the saw and his brother Mwembe the pencil. The sight of them drawing a wiggildy line and attempting to saw makes me smile even now! He had malaria once while we were there, and we were desparate for him to get better. Thanks to God he did, and we all swamped around him and laughed and chatted with his family when he arrived back from the clinic. I remember the tears in his eyes as we drove away for the last time. Obede is one of the faces I miss the most.

Diana

Diana is the last face. When I think of Diana I remember how she loved to be tickled, how I could sit her on my lap during church and she would prove a wonderful distraction from a service all in swahili. She couldn't sit still. And yet, she wasn't always so loveable. We picked her up and took her with us, and yet when she saw the car she shrieked and shrieked and demanded to be put down again. She was the sweetest face, and embodied the love and fear of the unknown.

There are SO many more faces I would love to put on, people I would love you to meet and stories I would love to tell- but I think I'll have to stop here because it's looking dangerously like this will turn into a novel otherwise. In short: I miss every single face- which faces sum up your year??

Twinsight....

Hahahah, I look at this and laugh, because it pretty much sums up mine and Gina's relationship. Crazy, funny and a little...well, weird. :) But I'm sure siblings are like this as well, so what's the difference between having a sister and a twin? I'd say it's almost exactly the same. For all you out there who have ever thought: man, I'd love to have a twin-  it's the same as having a sister, but with a few added problems. For example; whenever we go anywhere new, it takes a long time for people to know who we are individually, as the first impression they get is: oh it's the twins. And we are, from then on, collective, until proven otherwise. Which isn't great. Also... people assume you're okay on your own because you've 'got each other' but frankly we're just like everyone else in that we love to meet new people! So... there are pro's and cons same as any other relationship. But a definite, definite pro is that you have a 'sidekick' a 'wingman' a 'best friend for life' from the minute your born. And you can only thank God for that. :) (And obviously being asked the same questions over and over for most of your life is a little dull... in fact, I'll give you a taster:

1. Are you two twins?
2. How do you tell the difference?
3. Are you identical?
4. Who's the older one?
5. How far apart are you?
6. Are you really similar?
7. Are you telepathic?
8. Do you like, have each others clothes and things?

Etc. Etc. This post was inspired because, when I went to meet my Team (that I'm heading out to Tanzania with in January) on it was a girl who was also a twin, and a guy who was also a twin. Different situations but it was weird being able to relate over something that had previously only ever put me apart.... and it was a nice change! So I thought I'd enlighten those "normal" people out there who weren't born at the same time as someone else, as to exactly how that feels. And in summary:

 It's a happy coincidence, a bonus, a blessing and a joy, and a disadvantage all at once. And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Book Review

THE 'MARK OF THE LION' SERIES

 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

These books, in my humble opinion, are some of Francine Rivers' best work. They're so well written and brimming with subtle christian messages and ideals, tackling tricky christian and modern issues under the pre-text of fiction.

Set in the fall of Jerusalem, it tells the story of a young early christian girl who flees from death into slavery. The girls presence in the family that buy her, acts as a catalyst- destroying preconceptions, roman values, views on faith, views on love. Though it's set thousands of years ago, it's a book that speaks very much to the attitudes and thoughts of today's world, and into the hearts of those who read it.

Hadassah- the main character and christian slave girl- is such an inspiring character, I am in awe of whoever was able to dream her up! However, when we first encounter her, she is as far from a heroine as possible, a mere weak and feeble child. But this is the beauty of Rivers' writing- whilst Hadassah's faith is crumbling as the romans destroy and kill those around her, and she questions God's role in such horror, she is relatable to so many people today. People who only seem to encounter God as a man outside to blame for pain, death, and failure.

But through suffering comes strength. Rivers builds up Hadassah's character and faith in equal measure, and we are witness to a fantastic display of courage and a great example of trusting in God to all extents, even when stepping the line between life and death. It gives us hope, that we can grow in faith and strength just as Hadassah did.

Now, it wouldn't be a Francine Rivers book without a thread of romance; and so enter:

Marcus- He is the eldest son and, like Hadassah, begins as less of a hero than you might think. He is not the stead-fast, strong, hard and honest, humble christian man that Michael Hosea is in 'Redeeming Love'- no, Marcus has a string of girls and a mind focused on making money, recieiving his inheritance and living life only on his terms. When he meets Hadassah, he encounters the God she believes in and things start to change. Only inside him. He has no room for God, and yet his heart yearns after Hadassah, and an unbelievable romance develops until even he is forced to question God's role and existence.

Asides from the two main characters, there are a string of subplots as different people involve themselves in Hadassah's life. Julia, Marcus' sister, and their relationship is very much a focus in the book, her life a sad tale that winds up and down throughout the series in an irregular and exciting manner. Atretes is a German who was taken from his life by the Romans as Hadassah was, and though for the main part of the series the two slaves lives rarely meet, his story is one that develops intently in the last book.
Essentially, Francine Rivers had the premis for an amazing book, and was able to manipulate and twist such a story into an epic christian narrative. It contains so many lessons, so many tearful, joyful and wonderful moments, that yes, I have no bad thing to say about it.

 Favourite Quote:

 "Christ forgave the crimminals sins, but did not take him down from the cross."

-A Voice in the Wind, Book One.

 

Spontaneity in Nature

So A2 Results were posted this summer, and though I'm not going to tell you what I got (!) I was extremely happy with my photography- so here are some pictures that contributed to the part of my topic called 'Spontaneity in Nature'.... (using a cross-processed colour film)

Diamond Jubilee Year

Maybe this post is a few weeks late. But this deserves mentioning nonetheless.
It's about the Diamond Jubilee.
Let's get one thing straight: I've never been patriotic as such. I love my country, and I love the monarchy but I've never been a raving luny about England in the way of shoving flags at people and buying up all the merchandise!
That being said- this Diamond Jubilee weekend was absolutely 'spiffing'! We celebrated a delightful Queen who's served us all with dedication for 60 years- if that doesn't deserve a flotilla, then what does?? She's been ever open about her faith too, her protestant roots not just carved from tradition but evidently from a truly Jesus centred heart, (very evident in her speech this christmas.)Perhaps it's fair to say her service mirrors something of Jesus' own character... her service reflective of the greatest Servant King. How exactly has she served? Well she's travelled the globe, the common-wealth, represented us brits, defended the faith, no doubt passed and questioned laws, become the scapegoat, carried the burden of our economic and social failures and lifted us up in our sporting and additional success. She's never cracked under the pressure, dictated, greedily grabbed for power or taken out anger on us, her fickle and capricious subects. We, the people, have been able to look up to her for sixty years- and what an example she has set. Queen Elizabeth II has been the face of the country for some time now, and what we celebrated recently was that it is a face we can be glad of showing not just on coins, stamps, or banknotes- but around the world.
I write in all earnest when I say this: God Save the Queen!
Personally, I celebrated by joining a church 'party', watching the pageant and concert (sadly on TV, we weren't able to travel to London to join the throngs of monarch-enthusiasts!) having my aunt over (who waved flags enthusiasticaly at the Tv!) and strewing the house in cornwall and bath with red, white and blue. I wish I had taken more pictures. It felt unifying to the rest of the country. It felt happy. It felt like we had something to be proud of.

Beauty

Emotions- Lucia's Photo Challenge- my entry...

Feeling Small...

I've had a few moments recently, where I don't quite feel big enough for the shoes I have to fit. They're the shoes of the world, large, looming, and all around me people are trying them on and running off into their sunset... I'm left feeling a little like Cinderella.
Rationally, I know God has things in control. I know he's got my 'glass slipper' so to speak, and whilst it may not be conventional (of course it won't be, as we're called to live in the world but not to be of the world) my calling lies ahead of me like concrete.
But in this world?! In this life?
I feel like when the next challenge will be presented, far from rising to it, I'll try to lean on my own strength and crumble. I'm not as confident as other people, not as out-going, not as beautiful or headstrong, determined or thrill-seeking...
And yet when these doubts were running havoc in my mind, God comforted me by reminding me that I am just a seed.
And seeds are tiny. Am I right?
I may be small, seemingly insignificant, seemingly trodden on, pushed into the ground... but one day that seed will rise up into a tree.
But not by my own strength.
A seed cannot feed itself no matter how hard it tries, all it can do is spread it's roots far enough to catch the goodness from the other things that can. For some people that may be the world, fashion, a new pair of shoes, a sport they excell in, praise from someone they admire... but for me it will be God. God's spirit will feed me, his word will water me, he will pour sunshine down onto me until I shoot upwards into the destiny into which I was called, up into the world and then through this world into the next.
Frankly, I can't wait.

Inspiration taken from: 'I am a Seed' by David Crowder...

What a Gift

There are times in life that you know are a gift. They've been given, for whatever reason, out of love, and as you encounter them, wake up to them, walk through them- you know you're experiencing something special.

This happened to me for five beautiful days. But let me first set the scene...
I'm on the shoreline. I've just finished school. And I'm just starting a year of terror, challenges and freedom. These five days were a golden rest, God telling me to lay down my head, breathe him in, and know that he is God.

I spent it in Cornwall in a house with eight other friends and we had, to put it simply: the time of our lives! From waking up at random intervals, cooking breakfast, pancakes, long long bible studies (we did Galatians) and beach trips and body boarding, surfing in the sea, brilliant prayer and worship sessions, cliff walks, ball games and football, jokes, brilliant sandwiches, barbeques, marshmellows, taking pictures, cliff jumping, dancing, early morning swims, cliff climbing, 'caving', cooking, great conversations, late nights, dreaming up pranks, hilarious, cheesy, and romantic movies- Noting Hill! A Walk to Remember, Little Mermaid two...- many many cups of tea, one tiny bit of piano practise, guitar songs, making up music, competetive board-games, baths (!), popcorn, cleaning up, living in our own 'filth', hahahahah..... sorry I got a little carried away there.

I'm going to miss those wonderful people.

I'm going to miss those wonderful five days.

But if there's one thing it taught me through them, it's that God equips, He speaks, He is ALIVE, His love is so real, He is evident in the bible, in nature, the breeze, the ocean, friendships, loyalty and comfort, prayer, everything good. And we can really live with Him. We can really draw closer to him, anything is possible with him.

I knew it before I set off. But hearing it then and living it with other people, lit a tangible hope in me. When Paul talks about 'hope' he really means it. It made me realise that however well I think I know God's character, I will constantly be surprised by him, his love renewed in my heart, a new side to his massive shape of a nature revealed ...I understood his almighty power, his benevolent grace, his fierce love, and the massive significance that we can call him 'father' and he responds, 'yes my child'. Essentially. How massive it is... that he died for us.

I documented the week in pictures, determined not to forget a detail, determined to show you lovely people when I returned...

Baaaaaaaaaaa!

The blur in the background is, believe it or not, eve holding a surfboard for our first sea-trip of the week!

Let me aquaint you with my sister's chin- Isn't it pretty?!

This documents the aftermath of a feathery and long battle between Abbie and Kate, their only weapons: pillows and duvets...

The grin on my face is deceptive. It took many minutes, a bucket of patience and several charred matches to light this barbeque

Isn't God's world beautiful?!

And so we are now lead down different and estranged paths, our lives doomed to be different and expected to be brilliant, as we live, breathe and hope in our Lord Jesus Christ!!