my Articulate Heart

Father, Your love for me is constant. My love for You is not. It totally depends on my mood and feelings. I feel differently at different times. I get hurt and I switch modes. I have negative feelings when things go against my will and expectations. Is the culprit then my will and my expectations or is it my emotions? For I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  God's will is good, pleasing and perfect.  God, I know you have a perfect will for me. Do I need to have my own will then? If I join my will to Your will, do I need to expect at all? Cause you bring to fruition all things beyond my expectation. Emotions they respond to my deposition like a mirror. If I smile, she will smile back and if I frown she will do the same. To have my own will is a gift God has given me out of his great love and respect. Father may your will be done in my lif...

But primarily, the most shocking fact I would ever dare to bring to your notice would be something I would never want to tell you for the want of the desired security expected when a man explains undesirable matters to a contingent that not likely to understand the matter explained in a way it should be understood, taking into consideration; the people concerned are exposed to denial of the rights when they want it the most.

Mind mulls over matters that matter to man whose maintenance measures to mere miles and miles with no smiles not even a smiley icon to mallet the smooth memories mildly down the malicious mind.

Mickey mouse’s mind is menial and full of mist in the midst of all the meningeal menace. Even the most modern members of the Macedonian motherhood mock Mickey for miming mongoose every morning. Mockery of Mickey is menially mean, a mishap and a mammoth mind game. Mind you.

I thought my thoughts were what I thought while thinking about thoughts we think while thinking about thoughts.

Chatter that matter Is the patter the fatter But better is the mutter That's quieter like the butter

Twaddle of the toddler Swaddled in a mantle Coddled by the older Never he become gentle