Kindness

If the words you speak to a stranger

are more kind

than the ones you share with those who gather around your table,

more sweet than the morsels you deliver to the one who shares your bed,

then, perhaps, you have good manners.

But good manners are not a fruit of the Spirit.

“²² But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law” (Galatians 5:23-23, New International Version, 2010) Emphasis mine

Why is it easier sometimes to show kindness to everyone but those living under your roof? Do you have this struggle, or am I alone in uttering careless words to my loved ones that I would never say to anyone else?

Link up your post on kindness below, and please link back to my post with either a hyperlink or my button (grab the code off the sidebar). Be sure to read some of the other posts who have joined us, and show some kindness by leaving comments on the other blogs! Thank you for taking this journey with us!

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Forbearance

I pushed open the door and stormed out of the bathroom.

“I told you to get your pajamas on! Do not come out of your room again!”

And back in the bathroom I went, trying to dry the baby while the thick, moist air clung to my skin. I listened as giggles and little feet ran down the hallway into the bedroom next door, now two pairs of feet bouncing on the bed.

I sighed. I am so tired of this. I am so tired…

And, again, the fatigue and frustration manifested itself in a torrent of temper.

“I told you to get in your room and get on your pajamas NOW!!” The words, starting in my mouth as an angry threat, morphed into a desperate plea as I grabbed children by the arms, pulling them onto the floor.

I can’t take this every day. I’m tired of feeling like a single mother who’s married.

Then following the thought, the guilt came immediately as an image of a true single mother came to mind.

And I’m tired of feeling guilty for the feelings I have. What is so hard about letting me know what time he is coming home? I dragged one kid onto her bed and shut the door.

“Chloe, let’s go!” The toddler in the bathroom followed me down the hall to her room. I laid her on the floor and grabbed the orange diaper I had set out before her bath. My eyes began to burn with hot tears, and I blinked them away as I worked the velcro tabs before me.

Once she was dressed for bed, I pulled her onto my lap in the brown rocking chair, cream cushions dingy and worn from rocking with two children before her. And I prayed. I cried. And with each prayer for Chloe, with each sway of the chair, I offered up more venom to share with him.

We rocked and rocked. I heard bedroom doors open, laughter as a mattress hit the floor. And I didn’t care. I just don’t care.

The bedtime routine dragged on as I moved from one child to the next, trying to wash away the anger I spew on them with the silent hug I could offer. As I closed the last door, I picked up bath towels off the floor, mounds of wet cloth in my arms, and headed toward momentary solace in my room.

I flipped on the light, swiftly moving toward the hamper in the bathroom, and I noticed the pile in front of it.

How hard is it to put the clothes IN the hamper? I’ll just do this, too! I shoved the towels in and grabbed the mound of white undershirts that lay at my feet.

I’m not waiting for him to eat. I’m hungry now. I’m tired of waiting until nine to eat every night.

Seven o’clock used to be late; now it’s the norm. Our Sundays aren’t sacred. When has he worked enough? When is our day?

I vomited up more thoughts; the lava of pressure and frustration was rolling down the sides of my body as I descended the staircase. I was ready for him to walk through that door, and I would be waiting. No smile, no kiss, just discontent written across my face.

I headed into the kitchen and began working on the dirty dishes in the sink. I rinsed the filth off each plate but couldn’t wash clean the grime over me. I shoved the dishes into the dishwasher, the forks and knives in their separate compartments, and I heard the garage door.

I wasn’t even going to look up. He would know I was unhappy without my saying a word. But I was ready with words, and I wanted the fight. And, yet, I dreaded the fight that I would provoke.

I wanted to yell so that I could cry, and I wanted him to hurt so that he would know how I hurt. I wanted to point out everything he had ever done wrong, every sock left on the floor, every time he hadn’t returned my call during the day, every time he had come home late from work at night. And I wanted to be vindicated. I wanted to convince him our life had to change.

I held onto the dish in the sink without looking up as he walked through the door.

“Hi.” He came over and kissed me on the cheek.

Setting his computer bag down, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

“Go sit down on the couch. I know you’ve had a rough day. I’ll make you some tea.”

I looked up, ready to turn around and face him, ready to rattle off the litany of offenses he had committed, but instead, I made my way to the couch.

I stared straight ahead at the T.V., not uttering a word, feeling the breath rise and fall in my chest. I listened to the clanking of tea cups, the high pitch of the kettle screaming that it was ready, the sound of forks and knives rattling in the drawer, and the wall of defenses I had built began to dissipate.

He walked over, tea cup in one hand, plate of food that had been waiting on the stove in the other, and he set them before me.

And in a rare moment of grace, I simply said, “Thank you.”

I waited until he returned with his own plate, bowed my head as he said the blessing, and rested comfortably with my husband on the couch. And, for the night, I allowed myself to forget.

²² “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law” (Galatians 5:22-23, New International Version, 2010). emphasis mine

When have you displayed forbearance? What area of your life is God telling you to endure with patience?

Share your thoughts below by linking up your own post on forbearance! Copy the URL to your actual post, not just your homepage, so others can read your post related to this topic no matter the day of the week. You can link up any time through the weekend. Add my button or a link to my blog somewhere on your post, and be sure to comment on the other posts, as well. Thank you for sharing your journey with us!

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Learning

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law (Galatians 5:22-23). Emphasis added

I watched as that little boy made his way to the plate, slowly, not with the same swiftness he had displayed earlier in this first practice. For a moment, I was confused as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, holding his bat with the other hand. After only a second, he jammed those fingers into the pocket of his thick, blue vest. Back and forth his fingers would alternate between his mouth and his vest pocket, each hand having equal access to both places, and he struggled to balance the bat against his legs or in the palm of whichever hand was free.

What in the world? I thought. And then I realized what he was doing. His fingers are freezing, and his mouth is warm. Yet he continued. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and gripped the bat with both hands. He looked so small, so vulnerable. Rosy-cheeked, he stepped up to the plate without complaint, and he swung the bat with all his might.

And as I watched this four-year-old, tiny in comparison to the six-year-old giants, my heart swelled with pride each time the sound of the bat cracked against the ball. He was determined; he was committed. And commitment doesn’t wait for warmer weather.

His daddy knows this truth. He knew that the box of tulips delivered to the door during a week when my soul felt sucked dry would speak volumes more than a dozen roses presented on the obligatory holiday.

He knew that with each petal that opened danced the words, “Thank you,” and as the sweet fragrance wafted under my nose, a heart was restored.

He knew the power of a simple gift, an unexpected treasure, and the weight it relieves. And he knew that the perfect time for the perfect gift is the present.

His daughter understands this lesson. She greeted her brother as he exited his church classroom, her toddler arms wrapping around his body, conveying pure joy in their reunion. An unexpected gesture immediately reciprocated, any rough edges immediately smoothed over. And as she moved to her sister, not knowing that this sister had just been ill, her embrace brought healing, the two girls tightly woven together, their heads resting on one another’s shoulders. They didn’t move in the middle of the hallway, and as I tried to nudge them to the side, they remained in their hug, unaware of anyone but each other. A simple greeting in the midst of a crowd, causing the world to blur in the background as the siblings came into focus.

I want to love as they love; I want to persevere without complaint, even when my days or months or years feel dark and cold. I want thoughtfulness to consume my being, simple gestures never far from mind, and never remaining a mere thought. And I want to love passionately, not caring what anyone thinks except the recipients of my affection.

I thought I knew how to love, but I have so much to learn. My teachers set the bar high.

Now it’s your turn! What have you learned about love this week? Leave a comment below, or link up your own blog post. Grab the ‘Journeys’ button from the sidebar to link your post back to this site, and encourage others to join the conversation. Enjoy reading others’ blogs, and leave comments letting them know you stopped by today!

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Tears at His Feet

I’ve always tried to do what’s right. As a teenager, I didn’t give my parents a whole lot of trouble, and if I did do something wrong, I normally told them before they found out. Because of the choices I made, my friends in high school nicknamed me ‘The Puritan.’ I wasn’t too fond of that title, but I decided it was better to have people kid me for trying to follow the rules than the alternative.

So when it came to my faith, I didn’t have a dramatic turning point where, having hit rock bottom, I surrendered my life to God to save me. I grew up going to church, and I knew I was supposed to believe in God, so I did. My understanding of what following Christ entails grew as I grew, and I continue to learn today. But, while I am fully aware that I am a sinner (my kids remind me every day), I can simultaneously fall prey to the idea that I’ve done pretty well crossing my t’s and dotting my i’s.

This attitude may have clouded my understanding of Scripture.

The other day, I was reading the story in Luke chapter seven of the sinful woman who anointed Jesus’ feet with perfume and her tears. Simon, the pharisee who invited Jesus to his home for dinner, thinks to himself that, if Jesus were a prophet, he would realize what kind of woman is touching him. Jesus knows Simon’s thoughts and confronts him by sharing an illustration of a moneylender who forgives two debts–one small and one huge. He asks Simon who will love the moneylender more, and Simon answers that, of course, the person who had the bigger debt.

Jesus then compares the woman to the person who had the big debt–she could not stop kissing Jesus and anointing his feet because she knows what He would have to forgive: “Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—as her great love has shown. But whoever has been forgiven little loves little” (Luke 7:47, New International Version, 2010).

I have read that story many times, and I’ve always walked away with the same understanding: How wonderful that I worship a God who accepts everyone, no matter one’s past! I must not live life like Simon, judging others, but instead, I must extend my arms to those who are outcast, showing them that God’s love is available to all–no one’s sin is too great to be forgiven.

And while these conclusions are valid, I fear I missed the greater point:

I am that woman.

No matter how hard I tried and continue to try to live an upright life, I am so far from God’s perfect standard that He should never forgive me. Compared to a holy and righteous God, I am not fit to stoop in His presence nor stand as an ambassador for His Son.

Yet He does forgive me.

And until I can realize the enormity of my unworthiness, I can never fully love Him who sacrificed all to clothe me in white, making me worthy.

“But whoever has been forgiven little loves little.”

And whoever has been forgiven little, forgives little. Until I can see past all the right choices that I have made to the depraved nature of my own soul, I will never fully be able to forgive those who have wronged me. Once I see that my sins aren’t placed against another’s on the Scales of Justice, once I stop comparing my wrongs to those wrongs committed against me, I will be free to forgive and love.

Once I take the painful look at myself for who I am, once I see the soiled condition of my soul, I will weep like the woman at Jesus’ feet–not out of despair or hopelessness–but, instead, out of an abundant and overflowing love. For my vision will no longer remain cloudy, my sight blurred by my list of meaningless works. And for the first time, I will see. I will see that my debt to forgive wasn’t small, and neither should be the love that I give He that forgave.

Now it’s your turn! How did God speak to you this week in regard to forgiveness?Link up your post, or add a comment below. Share the love, and comment on other blogs, too!

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Let the Little Children Come

“But Jesus called the children to him and said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these'” (Luke 18:16, New International Version, 2010).

I’ve read and heard this verse many times, and every time I have visited it, I have come away with the same meaning–that we should approach our faith as a child would, accepting and believing without letting doubt steal away our hope in the Savior.

However, this past time I closed my Bible with a new treasure buried in my heart.

While we are to approach faith like a child, I believe Jesus is making another point–He truly likes children. I can picture Jesus calling the children to Him, laughing as they topple onto His chest, knocking Him to the ground. I can picture Him tickling and playing and kissing boo-boos on skinned knees, and I can picture Him holding their hands, gently guiding them back to their mothers’ care.

And what’s not to like?

Children are happy. They aren’t worn down with worry and stress, and they always wear a smile. They giggle and squeal often, truly embracing the moment.

And when sadness or anger hits them, they don’t hide their feelings as we adults have learned to do so well. They have their outbursts, but then they regain their composure and find happiness again, feeling better having purged themselves of the unpleasant emotions.

Children forgive, and not just in word. One minute a child could have been slapped by his sister, and in the next the two are having tea around a little table and miniature teapot with all of their distinguished guests. They don’t hold grudges that grow and fester over time, pushing those in need of forgiveness further away.

Some hug, some kiss. Others are more shy with physical touch but don’t let an hour go by without uttering an ‘I love you.’ Children aren’t ashamed or afraid or wrapped up in what’s an appropriate display of affection–they let those they love know it the instant they feel it, and they protect those they hold dear.

Children aren’t worried with what others think; they do what feels right. And while their impulses need direction at times, they live life with passion. They live life in color. They don’t lie awake at night wishing they could get their day back to do over.

And children show compassion. They cry when they see others hurting, their tender hearts not yet calloused by a world that offers so many examples of suffering. They take with them to bed images of a sick child on T.V. or a homeless man on the corner and tuck them under the covers alongside their teddy bears. They don’t forget as easily as we.

Yes, the kingdom belongs to them.

Perhaps, if we saw Jesus with those little children on His knee, we would see child-like faith a little clearer. And, perhaps, if we saw those little children with their smiles and giggles, we would understand faith in action.

Thankfully, God gave me little children of my own, and I think He would have me get down on my knees and have them come to me. He would have me put aside the bills for a moment, put down the broom. He would have me turn off the iphone and let them come. He would have me watch and learn.

And, perhaps, when my hand reaches to tousle their hair, my fingertips would brush the kingdom of God.

Now it’s your turn. How did you respond to this verse? Link up or leave a comment below! Be sure to visit the other blogs and leave a comment; you’ll make that person’s day! And if you are linking your own post, grab the code for my button on the sidebar, and invite others to take this journey.

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The Second Half of the Story

Faith has always seemed mysterious to me, how some people can have it and others struggle to find it. There isn’t a formula or steps a person can walk through to attain it–in fact, faith is almost the opposite. Faith is relying on somebody or something to live up to its promise, and the results are often out of one’s control. Faith is surrender, and at times, faith is frightening.

I’ve never had trouble believing in God; I find it harder to have faith in the idea that the world and all its beautiful intricacies do not point to the hand of a creator. I read the Bible, and I see prophecy after prophecy fulfilled, parallelism illustrated in books written hundreds of years apart, and the literature teacher in me delights in the richness of the pages. The words of Jesus hit me at the core, and I believe.

Something resonates in my soul, something that awakens my spirit to the idea that these words are true. And while doubts have come, they quickly wash away as sand pulled underneath the retracting tide.

While I believe, I completely understand why others don’t. No matter the number of prophecies fulfilled, historical evidence retrieved, or miracles performed, believing in the words of the Bible requires one to accept some difficult ideas: the hand of God parts the Red Sea through a shepherd’s staff, a man lives in the belly of a great fish for three days, a virgin gives birth to a son, and a Son ascends into heaven after experiencing death and life anew.

Tough ideas to wrap around one’s mind, yet I believe. I read about walls tumbling down after a group of Israelites circle them seven times; I taste the wine that Jesus made, saving a bridegroom from the embarrassment of having run out; and I wonder at the miracle of a bush aflame but not burnt.

But while I have faith in a big God and the miracles that He performed in another time, another place, I find that I don’t always have that same faith allowing me to believe He could work through me. While hearing a teaching on Gideon in church, I marveled at the faith of a man who believed God at His word that his mere army of 300 men would sufficiently destroy a Midianite army of over 100,000. I can believe that God asked someone else to trust Him, and He provided, but I can’t imagine trusting God in that way myself.

I want to be the woman who can pray and believe that what she is asking can happen. I want to be the Christian who has faith enough to act on the prompt of God, no matter the difficulty of what He asks. I want to be the person who could give up everything without knowing the next chapter in the story.

One of my favorite passages in the Bible is found in chapter nine of Mark. A man requests that Jesus, if He can, heal his demon-possessed son who has suffered since childhood. After Jesus responds that “everything is possible for one who believes,” the man cries out, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9: 23, 24, New International Version, 2010).

I get him. I understand believing in my heart that God has the power to do all He promises, but I wrestle with doubt at the same exact time. I want to believe, but I need help with my unbelief.

But I am comforted by the end of this story. Jesus does the impossible; He heals the boy. Despite any unbelief with which this man is fighting, God works a miracle. God opens the man’s eyes to His power and deals with his unbelief.

And I am no different than this man in the Bible. I have unbelief, but I also believe. And if I ask God to help me with my unbelief, He will–and that fact is scary because I don’t know what uttering those words–“God, help me overcome my unbelief!”–will mean for my life.

And I don’t know what they will mean for yours–perhaps revealing a path that points to a creator, perhaps driving you into the arms of a Savior, or perhaps giving you the courage to face the army that stands ahead–but He will answer.

Now the question is, will we make that demand? Will we demand that He help us overcome our unbelief? Because until we do, we are missing out on the second half of the story.

We’re just a mass of people waiting at the edge of the water as the Egyptian army follows ready to attack. We’re just a tired, beaten-down man waiting in the belly of a giant fish. We’re just a pregnant, unwed teenager, confused and scared.

But I’d rather walk through that path with walls of ocean in the periphery. I’d rather make it to dry ground, delivering the message God had asked I take. I’d rather know my Savior and grab hold of the courage He can give…

…help me, Father. Help me with my unbelief….

Now it’s your turn! What did you learn about faith this week? Leave a comment, or link your post below. Grab the ‘Journeys’ button from the sidebar so others can join the conversation. Thank you for your participation!

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Peace

The day is blurry, the path before me a hazy white that blends into the morning sky, and I gingerly place one foot in front of the other, hoping I’m stepping on solid ground.

I recognize this path, having walked it before, but the surroundings have changed–I have changed–and I continue on, holding my hood close to my face, protecting my skin from the bitter cold. I know I wasn’t promised a journey without pain. I know I wasn’t promised a journey without tears, and I fight the gnawing in my belly that tells me to give in to the anxiety that would have me turn back the other way.

And while I want to see the end of the road, the stark white on white allows me only to see that which is right before me. So I take a step.

With each step, I question the direction I am headed. Uncertain, I clutch the mustard seed in my hand a little tighter and watch as my feet hit the ground before me.

It’s only a mustard seed, but it is enough. For I know now that when I whisper to Him in the dark of night, frightened by the unknown that surrounds me, He gently touches my cheek. And when I continue to journey along the path, unable to see more than a few steps ahead, He lifts me over the roots and the mire that would entangle and snare.

I don’t have to see the end. I don’t have to understand the journey. But I have to take Him with me, for the uncertainty is too great, too overwhelming, to continue on without a guide.

So I call to Him earlier now. I no longer want to lead where I am not familiar, and He graciously makes straight my path. And while I still cannot see the end, I am eager to follow, for there is a break in the alabaster clouds, a sliver of light ahead.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:6-7).

How has the Lord shown you His peace? Leave a comment, or link your own post below!

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Reclaiming My Joy

I looked down the row at the tops of heads covered by the dark of the theater. Like bookends we held little ones in, keeping them from wandering in the aisle, holding them tight to our chests when the scenes were too intense for their impressionable minds. I caught Matt’s eye as Caleb formed a ball in his lap while I secured Chloe in mine, Hannah Grace nestled in the next seat, and my tummy grew warm with the liquor of joy. It was a simple moment, but the moment filled me, and the taste of contentment lingered on my lips for the rest of the evening.

Five days later, I was empty. A toddler bed was my undoing, and more than anything, all I wanted in the next moment was sleep. Sleep to bring stillness. Sleep to refresh. Sleep to wipe away the yesterdays of this week. I found irony in the situation that, during the week when I was supposed to contemplate the spiritual significance of joy, I felt anything but.

And I had to ask the question, where does it go? The Bible states that one of the fruits of the Spirit is joy, but so often I allow my circumstances, normally trivial, to dictate whether or not I bite into that fruit. I allow my own mind to deceive me into believing that my insecurities are reality, and slowly the joy evaporates from within.

But I wanted to reclaim my joy, and I scanned the Scriptures for any reference to the word, hoping to glean some insight as to how to scatter the dark cloud from overhead. I found some of what I expected and already knew: Experiencing the Lord produces indescribable joy.

As the exiles gathered to hear Ezra read the Word of God, they began to weep for they finally understood what they were hearing. Yet Nehemiah tells them, “Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10, New International Version, 2010). And they rejoiced.

Tasting the beauty of the Lord, understanding His law which in turns magnifies the sheer gift of His grace will produce joy. I have known this joy, but continually living in this state of awareness seems impossible. How do I rejoice in the LORD when the disobedience of my children has worn me thin? How do I rejoice in the LORD when I feel like a failure? How do I rejoice in the LORD when I feel ashamed to utter His name?

And as I scanned further, God’s Word began to illuminate answers to this question. Verse after verse tied righteousness to joy:

“Light shines on the righteous and joy on the upright in heart” (Psalm 97:11).

“The prospect of the righteous is joy, but the hopes of the wicked come to nothing” (Proverbs 10:28).

“Evildoers are snared by their own sin, but the righteous shout for joy and are glad” (Proverbs 29:6).

Perhaps my joy eluded me because I failed to live righteously. As I lost my temper with my children, control over my words, I lost my grip on joy. As I gave in to the fatigue that told me I was incompetent, I gave in to the sin that would have me rely on my own strength.

Perhaps Nehemiah’s words, spoken directly to a people celebrating the completion of the Wall of Jerusalem, are spoken directly to me, as well.

Jennifer–the joy of the LORD is your strength.

When your children defy you, the joy of the LORD is your strength.

When your husband disappoints you, the joy of the LORD is your strength.

When your coworker cheats you, the joy of the LORD is your strength.

When your friend deserts you, the joy of the LORD is your strength.

In His kindness, He has made known His expectations, and He has given us the strength to uphold them if we will so choose. And when we don’t, He has given us a net of grace to keep the fall from breaking us beyond repair.

And that truth is my joy. And that truth is my strength.

And that truth is stronger than any cloud that hangs over my head.

So I will claim it as I sigh a prayer of gratitude before I drift off to sleep, trusting that His strength will be waiting for me in the morning, holding the promise of a new joy.

Now it’s your turn! What did you learn about joy this week? Leave a comment below, or add a link to your blog post (not to your webpage but the actual URL of the post). Include a link back to my site, or grab the html code below for my button so others can join the conversation.

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Resolving to Make a Resolution

As the holidays came to a close, the tree and ornaments taken down and put away, I let out a quick sigh for the vacuuming that would have to take place tomorrow. Normally at this point in the new year, I feel a little let down, as if all the build up and rush for that one special day had come and gone and took a little of the satisfaction with it. However, this year eagerness follows as I step into January. The end of December was filled with all the frantic rush and hurry from one place to the next as is typical in our holiday traditions, but the time was perfect. And now, I am anxious to start fresh, and for the first time, I resolved to write down concrete, measurable resolutions.

A couple of those resolutions relate specifically to developing as a writer and taking my blog to the next level. Over the last few months prior to the holidays, I started to write more frequently, largely in part to figuring out the time of day in which I had the best chance of writing successfully, and I want to keep that momentum going. In addition, I want to take a risk and invite others to join me.

Six months ago, I started ‘Focus On It Friday‘ as a way to force my thoughts toward all the good in my life. After the birth of Chloe a year and a half ago, my life had taken a crazy turn, and I wasn’t always pleased with the way I parented or how my children acted. We weren’t able to sell our home, and Matt’s long days at work continued. Many mornings started with frantic rushing, and the evenings seemed filled with chaos. However, God showed me, without fail, that I could easily write about something for which I was thankful every Friday.

I needed those Fridays to reflect, but now I feel a pull in a different direction. Over the last year, I have learned that, not only is life a journey, but so are the times of learning when God grabs my hand and tries to open my eyes and my mind to His truth. While this last year I needed to focus on having a thankful heart, I now need to focus on the journey, and I want to invite you along.

Every Monday or Tuesday I will share a word or Bible verse relating to a spiritual topic, and I will spend the week reflecting on that idea. On Friday, I will post my reaction to that topic, and I would love for you to share your reaction, as well, by linking your post to my blog. Your post can take many forms–use your own creative flair as you explore the theme for the week.

My hope is that God will teach me more about Him through this time of reflection, and at the same time, others will be encouraged through what they read. I will strive to create a safe place where people can reflect, whether they are long-time Christians or uncertain about their beliefs.

So what do you say? Will you join me on this journey?

Tag: Journeys