Torn.
This summer was hard. I tore it up. These tear stained, coffee spilled thin pages ripped up into a pile on my bedroom floor. I was so mad. I stopped myself in the middle of it. I came to some pause. It wasn’t a dramatic, get attention action for me. I knew what I was doing. I scanned the pile while sobbing to find John 15, some of Isaiah and my favourite Psalms, but I still continued . I even cried more as I thought to myself some people don’t even have one of these in their hands in countries and still I tore the pages of my Bible in pieces. I was processing grief of moving, sickness and isolation. I didn’t and don’t want all the medical and mental sicknesses going on with me. I had to leave my friends, ministry and even my physical care was getting heavier. I would now have care workers come in to help me twice per week. I was not getting along at some points with anyone who would try and help me in my family. It was terrible. Just weeks before I had wept and prayed for God to