Angie Smith

And how long will your fingers be so tangled in the law that you can't live out of My grace?

What a funny girl, I thought, and then I realized something. To the three-year-old ye, and maybe even to the thirty year old eye, weeds and grass look very similar. Same color, same feeling, same texture.

But that's just it; I can either focus on what I have lost, or what I have gained, and I choose the latter.

Whether or not I protect the weeds isn't a matter of just recognizing the weed for what it is, but possessing the conviction to grab hold of the roots and yank like my life depends on it.

There will be the IV poles, the divorce papers, the sound of dirt hitting a casket. We will have moments where we can't catch our breath and all the world seems wrong, and we can't help but wonder if He even cares.

This Bible of Mine? It is the breath of God spoken into my weary bones. It is the armor I need to walk the roads He has chosen for me, and it's the confirmation of promises that withstand the test of hours and adversity. It's a love letter, and it has my name on it. It has your name on it.

We don't get to see ourselves the way the Lord sees us, but we can choose to believe what He says about us.

When you are doing what I've asked you to do, you don't have to worry about getting to the farm. I'll bring you the farmer instead. And when you think you have lost sight of all your sketches, just know that it's okay. I know where the sketches are, what they need to be, and I will never leave you.Let go of the grief and the sorrow. Release the anger and the plans set in stone. Because I hold your sketch in My hand the way Mr. Gentry did in his. I watch and I draw - even when you don't know. I am concerned with all things that concern you.