Love looks different to the Prodigal….He’ll probably know it better than the over-fed ones who have always been home… Not that you’ll ever hear him say it. Love is etched in the calluses on his hands, the weathered skin on his brow…You hear it in the way he speaks…There isn’t so much youthful exuberance in there, rather, it’s in the pauses between words…in the wise responses to questions asked. Love, to him,  has a homely aura…No airs here… #randommusings




Sudden push by selfish pride

Caution gone with the wind

Spiralling Swiftly

Now out of control

The mode is set : Free fall

I do not hear the Spirit’s call.

Beclouded with thoughts of gloom,

No stop button on this ride of doom.

Events have been set in motion,

All that remains is quick collision.

Hastening  to kiss the  ground,

My heart begins to pound.

Where is my Saviour, my one-time Friend?

He said He’d stay till the very end…

Pushed to the end of my rope,

I’m lifting my eyes to the Sun of Hope.

Snatched from that infernal state;

Under me are solid arms of eternal weight!

My  fall is broken,

My life offered as a token.

Out of my lips will come a praise

I’ve been captured by your grace!