The rain drips down outside in pathetic little drops. Not enough to get you wet, but enough to be a nuisance. I know April showers bring May flowers, but these aren’t showers. This is a leaky faucet. There’s just something annoying about it. The gray skies wear on your soul after a while. Standing in front of the window, you push your hands against the cold surface of the glass. You can see the rain dotting the puddles outside.

Somewhere out there, someone is hurting. And there’s nothing I can do. My thoughts turn to them, and my mind echoes prayers for them, but what more can I do? What’s done is done.

Just when you think you don’t understand, it all becomes so clear. There is a time for everything, and the great artisan has worked it all out so perfectly. You may be in choppy waters now–your boat may even have capsized–but the peace will come.

You can walk on water if only you’d try.

I have a rather eccentric art professor that claims the word “can’t” has to be the most offensive word to the ears of our God. “Fuck” must pale in comparison.

“You can do that,” she said with a confidence and assurance that I needed so badly. I looked up and caught her eyes, and my spirits were lifted.

An exchange of glances. Funny how one look can mean so much. What does yours say to the world?