A poem on self-harm (trigger warning: suicidal thoughts/self-harm/mental illness)
Picture this: a thief breaks into your home and steals nearly everything you own. You are devastated, and all you can see are the things that have been taken from you. As the dark days go by following this tragic event, you begin to notice small things around the house that you did not buy. They are simple. Seemingly of no consequence. Some are practical, while others are impractical but carry meaning and beauty.
"I am writing all of this in response to the Coronavirus, dear friend, which is currently rampaging the globe, and has now sprung up in our very own city of San Antonio, TX."
See, suffering for me is not a matter of fairness, but rather an honor. God has chosen me for the difficult mission. The dangerous one. The one with great glory and reward and joy at the end. (Even though I want all glory to go to Him because He deserves it!) "For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison." (2 Corinthians 4:17)