Ten toes down. Ten fingers clinging to the cross — but even I can admit: some unanswered prayers leave me feeling so cross.
Where both the heart and mind start to whisper —"maybe we’ve already been crossed out from receiving blessings," even after giving ourselves to that same cross.
The soul isn’t an X to unconditional love — it still holds on, trembling, but my human nature keeps crossing out its own heart. Unwilling to believe in the redemption that bled for it, too caught in its own voice to hear anything softer.
Pride’s the loudest preacher in the room. It tells me, "you deserve it all" — as long as it's everything I want and nothing I have to wait for; even when I try to even the odds, I’m reminded: human nature is always at odds with itself.