OGAR-EDE FAITH IRIPIA

ADOPT the daughter born of a concealed AFFAIR. Forget the mother’s APPEARANCE, the judgment, the stare. Train her in the gifted ACADEMY’s light— choose every ASPECT to nurture her right. Be steady in ANNUAL precedence, year after year; she is your blood, not some tamed ANIMAL here. Breathe in the ATMOSPHERE your choices designed, and see in this child the AZURE you long to find. Yet keep the door AJAR for the mother, in part, for you once left it wide open, partner at heart. Disregard true ACCEPTANCE, and you will soon learn the consequence when Karma and Heaven’s Wrath turn. This is the APOSTROPHE, a cry direct and immense: Don’t you think you are absent? Account for your offense.

Love does not look for the lonely. But it does not look for the busy either - the one who hides behind videos and excerpts, saying I don't quite understand you. Love looks for the one who, when the conversation continues, puts down the shield for a moment and says: Remember our paths? That brings me to look inward and begin what God has placed inside. Working against all odds so I can look back and say: I'm really glad I took this step. Love looks for the one who knows the Holy Spirit remains our comforter, giving direction and purpose, leading us to the right people at the right time. Love does not demand the first answer. Love waits for the second one - the one that comes after the guard is lowered, after the father's wisdom has done its work. Love chose you. Not because you never deflect. Because you learn when to open.

They called her the brainiest, long before she knew what brains were for, before the 4 out of 10, before the poetry professor's quiet office, before she learned that fantasy builds castles but description builds houses people can live in. She walked into that room anyway. She always walks into the room. She watched a phone get seized. Watched it returned. Learned that some lessons come through watching, through sitting quietly while someone else's consequence unfolds like a slow, deliberate flower. She carries their stories too, not as hers, but as entrusted. Even from corners, even in shadow, she sees clearly. Comprehension's clarity. Bluffers spare self expression, but she listens. She remembers. Silence propels her heart. She hears always. She climbed. The ladder shook. It always shakes. But she learned what the old woman on the veranda knows: joy is the climb, not the altitude. The test still waits on every windowsill, but she is still climbing. Still climbing. Today is our day. The time of reflection forward. Not backward, forward. Not stuck, moving. Not alone, accompanied. By God. By words. By every poem she has yet to write, every lesson she has yet to learn, every student she has yet to become. May your faith grow spontaneously, prevailing over every thinking process. May your dead ends respond with Thanksgiving. May your tummy aches find mummies who understand. May the charming distant glow remain Good. May you always walk in the Light. May your seasons cease only to grow you. May this day, your day, be the first page of the most extraordinary chapter yet. The ladder is yours. Climb it.

My father once said I did not pronounce it well, Nor. A small word, a hinge between two holy places: Not this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem. It sounds like a door gently closing on where we thought God lived. Nor is the seam between two doubts, the bridge over either/or, the quiet correction to our geography of grace. We keep building altars in locations, but nor dismantles them, stack by stacked stone. It is not a negation, but a relocation. Neither here… nor there… means everywhere. The Father is not in the soil of Samaria nor the marble of the temple mount, but in the breath between them, in the worship that slips past place, past pronunciation, past proper names. My father was right. I had been saying it too small, as a separator, a limit. But Jesus says nor and means beyond. Beyond mountain, beyond city, beyond any syllable we assign to holy. The hour comes— and in it, nor becomes the open sky.

Emmanuel - God is with Us! Estacy sublime Even in thick shadows Derived YES Everything within and without Is where the envelope of His Spirit lies

Starlight Starlight's Under the moonlight Glowing lamps Like fireflies in the distance Howling sounds that sparks the ears The cats, with eyes as vast as skies, Through, Soft starlight whispers The mutant cat is the soft girl with furry ears, She hears soft starlight whispers, a mild call. A little cat on her back, a friend through it all, Together they sit On a bigger cat, ready to stand tall. We shall explore the forest gleams! Adventure awaits, come along! With bravery and friendship, their curiosity will bring delight, And shine like starlight, a dream on this magical on this magical night.