Writing should come naturally. Just like all forms of arts and everything related to it. After all, art is breathing.
His eyes were fixed on mine. Searching for something I am not sure I can name. Maybe..I am not sure, but the look on his face was almost the same as he had looking at the sea and the sky. Maybe, only maybe, he was searching for that thread of hope that I needed.
The Truth does not magically erase her suffering or cure her disappointment. It does not negate her struggle or invalidate her sorrow. It does something even better—it leads her into relationship with the One who made her and makes her new, the One who is greater than all of these.
My whole body is full of joy and grace and how very thankful I am there are no words to explain.
I don't want to draw over an already made picture. I want to start a new piece of art, on a new page, with new colours and new pencils and new everything.