Made Fried crustables
Cinnamon and sugar sweet
Next fried butter cakes
Tag: blackmomblogger
Joy Writer. Joy Rider. Joy Fighter.
Joy is described as the fruit of the Spirit, and as I am a believer, this means it is a deep, abiding, and abundant gift that comes from God. It’s not just about fleeting moments of happiness, but a lasting sense of contentment paired with peace that fills my heart. This kind of joy is a reflection of my walk, a spiritual quality that relieves and helps me see the beauty and grace in the life God has written for me. When I cultivate joy as a fruit of the Spirit, it transforms my perspective, allowing me to experience a profound sense of healing, connection, and liberty. In Galatians 5:22-23 (KJV) it states, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such things there is no law.”
AGAINST SUCH THINGS THERE IS NO LAW.
Embracing joy as a fruit of the Spirit also means that it’s nourished by a relationship with His Majesty. It’s not always about having everything go perfectly; rather, it’s about a learned radical belief that understanding the liberty of living and walking in the spirit will harvest love and worship unto God. This joy is resilient and enduring, providing strength and hope even in challenging times. It’s a beautiful reminder that God is actively at work, and soon the spiritual richness and fulfillment of God’s promises will manifest through every part of life.
Just Benny Bennasi.
cinema featured on a five by seven screen
how do you rid of remnant memories
how can i occupy that space
the space that fills my mind
my mind up of remnant memories
remnant memories that still remain
the ones i can’t seem to erase
the ones remaining in my mind
how do you rid of remnant memories
the ones inside my head
to replace with bigger pictures
while im waiting
to clear up that space
ill be occupying the time
with remnants of memories
the man in the tailored black suit: The Coat
strange women use propaganda
gentlemen use proper gander…
he’d heard reckless things bout sista, the “oooooh i can’t stand hu’h!”
his conditioned heart felt the fire in those words and how it made sista quiver
he takes off his tailored black coat, hands it right to her….
and sista turned to gold…
because
I am a 5’7 Novice professional.
The dreamers visionaire.
A visionaires dreamer.
Millennia renaissance woman, i think.
Mother of 3.
An On Demand, anime, and Netflix binger.
Podcast junkie.
Jackie of some trades
Tacooooo 😮 savvypreneur, but only for taco tuesdays.
Poplocker in my head.
Dance fever advocate for those who dance like nobody’s watching.
Like that time my son performed what I assumed to be an eight count of moves he’d made up while we waited for his name to be called at the doctor’s office.
With a room full of people the only person who cared to join him was the nurse who’d politely welcomed us when we’d entered the door.
They had the moves.
Entertained, I cheered them on.
I was the hype woman.
no, no, Ororo Munroe
There’s a storm cloud floating above me, its thunder is shaking the place
Fahrenheit at 108
I admired two birds standing still as the wind blew
while witnessing lightning strike
they stand firm as the thunder swoon
the thunder swoons
One facing left and the other right nesting in the blended CG tunes
The cloud breaks, rain falls, and they fly away
the feeling, OF
There is nothing like the feeling of, the feeling of.
The feeling of the tightest hug
and a box of love with meanings in it.
You know the ones with the dreams in it?
Yes those, The feelings of…
It was the feeling of my lightest dream.
Glistening diamonds
the sweetest buttercream
the feeling of the best of the feeling, of.
CaliDreamin.
For some, the dream is elusive. Therefore, they do not choose to believe in it.
Progression
pro·gres·sion
Definition: the process of developing or moving gradually towards a more advanced state.
So…
I.
I am.
I am a.
I am a work.
I am a work in progress.
I admit, i’m aware of this.
No matter how much I try to run away from it, it pulls me back in.
the work.
the progress.
It churns my stomach. Makes my heart ache. Produces the sweat above my lip. Insists on fogging the lens of my glasses.
The progress.
The work that I am.
The work that I was
no longer am i leaning on my self absorbed mastery
only depending on the Lord to instill in me understanding.
Understanding.
Understanding.
Understanding
the work that is made in me.
The new work that is made in me.
I heard pleading in streets. “Simplicity! Change from the simple things!”
…it’s time to progress
-ind
the creative mind
has eclectic grinds.
can you guess
what dreams are made of?
deprived of things
except for the joy that brings
the imaginative and its make up.
Kim's Organized Cluttr 