![]() |
| Our Hope, Peace, and Comfort |
She still feels the ache...
But she also feels the peace.
For love does not end here-
It rises!
![]() |
| Grief can look different for those with hope in Christ |
There is a sacred language spoken in grief—one that does not always use words...
There is a sacred language spoken in grief—one that does not always use words. It is felt in silence, in tears, in the quiet absence of someone deeply loved. Whether the loss is a spouse, a parent, a child, or a dear friend, grief is not weakness. It is love with nowhere to go.
“The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18 (KJV)
To grieve is to honor what was real. It is the soul acknowledging that something precious has been lost.
“Jesus wept.”
— John 11:35 (KJV)
If Christ Himself wept, then grief is not something to suppress—it is something to carry, with God near.
“To every thing there is a season… a time to weep, and a time to mourn…”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1,4 (KJV)
Grief is not meant to be rushed or corrected. It is a season allowed by God for healing.
“Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.”
— 1 Peter 5:7 (KJV)
“Judge not, that ye be not judged.”
— Matthew 7:1 (KJV)
“Who art thou that judgest another man’s servant?”
— Romans 14:4 (KJV)
Grief is not identical from one heart to another. What looks like silence in one may be survival. What looks like tears in another may be love still speaking. You may see another filled with peace, comfort, and hope, celebrating their loved one's life. Why? Because they know, even though brokenhearted, they will see their loved one again. Grief is not "one size fits all."
“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
— Galatians 6:2 (KJV)
“A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.”
— Proverbs 25:11 (KJV)
God sees how we respond to the brokenhearted. Compassion honors Him. Judgment grieves what He holds close.
“Weep with them that weep.”
— Romans 12:15 (KJV)
Not to fix—but to sit. Not to correct—but to care.
Just be there. Sit beside them in the quiet. Let their grief breathe. Offer kindness without condition.
Even in sorrow, there is a quiet thread of hope for those who are in Christ. Death is not the end—it is a crossing into His presence.
“We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:8 (KJV)
Those we love are not lost—they are held by Him, whole and at peace.
“But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope.”
— 1 Thessalonians 4:13 (KJV)
This does not mean we do not weep, but that we do not grieve without hope.
“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain…”
— Revelation 21:4 (KJV)
So while we mourn their absence, we can also hold a quiet gladness—knowing they are with Christ.
Grief and hope can live in the same heart. Tears and peace can walk side by side.
From earth to ink… we hold space, we honor love, we remain.
![]() |
| Caring for the Widows and Orphans |
There is a quiet circle in the heart of God—one not drawn in ink, but in compassion. It is the circle that gathers the widow, the orphan, the grieving, the forgotten. It is a place where loss is not ignored, but held gently. Scripture calls us into that circle—not as observers, but as participants.
To care for those who have lost is not an optional kindness. It is a defining mark of true faith.
“Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction…”
— James 1:27 (KJV)
Widows and orphans represent more than loss—they embody vulnerability. In biblical times, they often had no protection, no income, no voice. Even today, grief isolates. It reshapes identity. It leaves people standing in silence while the world moves on.
God does not overlook them—and neither should we.
“A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.”
— Psalm 68:5 (KJV)
When we step in with care, we reflect the very character of God. We become His hands in tangible ways—through meals, presence, listening, and love.
Caring is not passive. It requires movement toward those in pain.
“Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.”
— Isaiah 1:17 (KJV)
This is not just charity—it is justice. It is standing in the gap where life has torn something away.
We are called to:
Scripture does not soften the consequences of neglect.
“Ye shall not afflict any widow, or fatherless child. If thou afflict them in any wise, and they cry at all unto me, I will surely hear their cry.”
— Exodus 22:22–23 (KJV)
To ignore suffering is to turn away from God Himself. Indifference hardens the heart. It creates distance not just between people—but between us and the Spirit of compassion.
And when we speak carelessly—when we gossip about the grieving, question their healing, or diminish their pain—we do harm that echoes deeper than we realize.
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue…”
— Proverbs 18:21 (KJV)
Words can either cradle a wounded soul—or deepen the wound.
Grief is sacred ground. We are meant to walk softly there.
“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
— Galatians 6:2 (KJV)
“Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.”
— Romans 12:15 (KJV)
Sometimes the most powerful thing we can offer is not advice—but presence. Not answers—but understanding.
Sit beside them.
Bring quiet kindness.
Let them speak—or not speak at all.
And above all, love them without condition.
“And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.”
— 1 Peter 4:8 (KJV)
The Widow’s Circle is not closed—it grows every time someone chooses compassion over comfort, kindness over judgment, presence over avoidance.
We are all, at some point, touched by loss. And when that day comes, we will understand the sacredness of someone simply staying.
So we practice now.
We love now.
We step into the circle now.
Because in caring for the grieving, we are not only obeying Scripture—we are becoming more like Christ.

Bohemian Madwoman
Part poet, part homesteader, part beautifully ungoverned creative force—she exists at the intersection of gentleness and vivid, slightly unhinged curiosity.
There is a quiet mystery written between the lines of prophecy—
not loud, not forceful, but deeply stirring…
A moment when something holy steps back,
and the world, for the first time, breathes without restraint.
Scripture speaks of it softly:
“For the mystery of lawlessness is already at work; only He who now restrains will do so until He is taken out of the way.”
— 2 Thessalonians 2:7
This “restrainer” has long been understood by many to be the Holy Spirit,
present in the earth, moving through believers, holding back the full flood of evil.
And one day…
that restraint lifts.
The Apostle Paul tells us that lawlessness is already alive in the world—
we see it in fragments, in shadows, in quiet rebellion.
But something is holding it back.
“And now you know what is restraining, that he may be revealed in his own time.”
— 2 Thessalonians 2:6
This is not chaos without permission.
This is timing.
God, in His sovereignty, has allowed a divine restraint—
a holding of darkness until the appointed moment.
When Paul writes that the restrainer will be “taken out of the way,”
it does not mean the Holy Spirit ceases to exist—
God does not abandon creation.
Rather, it suggests a shift in presence.
The Spirit, who now indwells believers and works through the Church as salt and light:
“You are the salt of the earth…” — Matthew 5:13
“You are the light of the world…” — Matthew 5:14
…will no longer restrain evil in the same way.
And the world will feel it.
Like a tide pulling back before a storm.
Only after this restraint is lifted does Scripture say:
“Then the lawless one will be revealed…”
— 2 Thessalonians 2:8
Often identified as the Antichrist, this figure rises in a world no longer held in check.
Paul describes him further:
“He opposes and exalts himself above all that is called God…”
— 2 Thessalonians 2:4
“The coming of the lawless one is according to the working of Satan, with all power, signs, and lying wonders…”
— 2 Thessalonians 2:9
This is not merely political power—
it is spiritual deception on a global scale.
This is the question that lingers in many hearts.
If the Spirit’s restraining work through the Church is removed…
where does the Church go?
Many point to what is known as the rapture:
“For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout… and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive… shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.”
— 1 Thessalonians 4:16–17
“I will keep you from the hour of trial which shall come upon the whole world…”
— Revelation 3:10
“God did not appoint us to wrath…”
— 1 Thessalonians 5:9
In this view, believers are gathered to Christ before the full unveiling of the lawless one.
Like seeds lifted before the frost.
Without restraint, the world enters a time Scripture describes as:
“Because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold.”
— Matthew 24:12
It is not simply destruction—
it is a world untethered from truth.
Prophecy is not written to stir fear—
it is written to awaken.
To remind us that history is not drifting…
it is unfolding.
And even in this:
God is not absent.
He is precise.
He is patient.
He is calling.
“Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts.”
— Hebrews 3:15
From earth to ink… this is a story not of endings, but of unfolding light.
I have a whim to write so write I will.
Can’t believe I am being this still.
I type and I type to no avail.
I can’t believe it, so I guess I will.
What says the key — can it really be
an a or a y? I really can’t say why.
I have a whim to write, so write I will.
When night time comes, I pick up my quill.
Some say I’m lazy and others say naught.
When I sit here and write, I’m not such a snot.
I love the sound of the keys that clank,
or the pen that strikes as I sit down to write.
Well here we go again, picking up where we left off —
not quite sure what to write, but at least it’s a start.
Good night my protagonist.
It was good to see you again.
I’ll finish your scene without you letting out a scream.
The days are long and the nights too short.
I’ll finish your story sometime in the morning.
With coffee brewed and in the mood,
I’ll pick up where we left off,
and again we will start.
— Written in 2015
Queen Eldora is banished by her husband the King from her immortal home to live among the human race as a mortal woman. A miracle occurs ...