I Stretch Out My Hand

I read this last night - it is from Psalm 143:

I remember the days that are past:
I ponder all your workds.
I muse on what your hand has wrought
and to you I stretch out my hands.
Like a parched land my soul thirsts for you.

~~~

In all things we thirst, whether happy or sad; there is always a hope for something - more joy, less pain, more passion, less sacrifice.

As people, of whatever faith or belief, we aspire and reflect on what we currently feel, do and think, and we ruminate on the past.

How have the events of our past molded us, shaped us, made us into what we are at this moment in time and space. Whether you believe the Potter molds you, or that our experiences shape our clay, there is no doubt that we are all changed, squezzed, touched.

What I am certain of, regardless of who or what you believe in, or how you believe we are shaped, we are all beautiful. Our unique experiences and our reactions to them have given us a look all our own. In all my reflections, I realize that even those most tortured by inner demons are beautiful wonderful creations. That is a gift! </P